


Passing the Torch

by Innate_Lymphoid_Cell



Category: 86-エイティシックス- - 安里 アサト | 86 - Asato Asato, Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Asato Asato, Crossover, F/M, Gen, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24714289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innate_Lymphoid_Cell/pseuds/Innate_Lymphoid_Cell
Summary: So long as there are wars to be fought, a Spartan never sits idly by.Thrust into a foreign world, with little hope of returning to UNSC territories, Spartan-B312 navigates a course of action aligned with UNSC interests. He finds a team reminiscent of the doomed Spartan-IIIs, carving a path for themselves in a war with odds stacked against them. A fortuitous moment of intervention saves the life of a doomed Eighty-Six, and the course of fate for Spearhead Squadron will never be the same again.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Been on a Light Novel binge, really enjoyed 86 (at least the two volumes I've managed to get my hands on so far), and felt inspired enough to write fanfiction for it after seeing that there's only one other entry here on ao3, and 0 on FFN. At the same time, played the Halo: Reach campaign after having escaped the Halo fandom for over a decade, and really enjoyed the backstory and themes behind the game. All the suddenness of deaths in the first volume of 86 really got to me, so this is my attempt at a soft fix-it, although shit's still going to go down eventually.
> 
> Hope it's halfway decent!

Contrary to what most who had read his heavily redacted military file may think, Spartan-B312 didn't think of himself as that much different from his peers. At the end of the day, even if he may have spent his days playing the role of a personal grim reaper for his superiors at ONI while 298 fine men and women of Beta Company sacrificed themselves to earn a pyrrhic victory on Pegasi Delta, Spartans were _Spartans._

Spartan life was simple. They served as humanity's sword and shield, and so long as there was a threat to the peace of humanity and her colonies, they would give every damned thing they had to eradicate the threat. It didn't matter if said threat was insurrectionist ideals or the war against the Covenant.

So long as there was a mission, they would achieve victory.

No matter the cost.

From the time he became a Spartan-III, life had been simple. One by one, he had seen the people he fought and bled with drag humanity's enemies down to hell with them, beginning with the 298 of Beta Company that perished for the sake of Operation:TORPEDO to delay the Covenant's push into UNSC space, until the very end at Reach, as one by one the members of his newest – and only – team sacrificed their lives without hesitation for the sake of all humanity.

Yes, Spartan life was simple. Fight, and win. Mission after mission. And at the very end, the only acceptable death was one that laid the foundation to the path of victory. A Spartan fought until their dying breath.

B312 was no special Spartan.

His final mission: survive. If survival was impossible: kill as many Covenant as he could.

Spartans saw their missions to the end. Anything less than victory was unacceptable.

And so it was, that after hours of brutal combat against hordes of Grunts, Elites, Brutes, Jackals, Drones, and even a couple of Engineers, Spartan-B312 knew that the end was coming. He smiled wryly, as he laid down another controlled burst of 7.62x51mm bullets from his MA37 Assault Rifle, ending the life of yet another Elite.

A bloody trail of bodies, ammunition, and plasma burns followed his offensive retreat into the shipyard bunker where he had completed his final mission. The torch of all Noble Team was passed on to Captain Keyes and his crew on the Pillar of Autumn. All that was left was to take as many Covenant bastards down with him to hell.

Without pausing for even a second as the Elite fell, he tossed a frag grenade into the doorway, buying space for him to reload the assault rifle as he backed into the final room he could safely retreat to in the shipyard. He spared a moment to take stock of what inventory he had left on him after hours of fighting and salvaging from the corpses of friend and foe alike.

He was down to two clips of AP rounds for the MA37. He still had a fair few clips left for the SRS99-AM sniper rifle, but there simply wasn't enough space to effectively use it. He had a M45-T shotgun, but with no ammo left after prolonged use in close combat. Beyond that, all he had on him were a pair of plasma pistols he had continuously kept refreshed from the hundreds of Grunts that had fallen over the past hours of engagement, and a Gravity Hammer he had looted from a Brute.

He considered his options, cycling through the scenarios rapidly while the Covenant were still taking cover from his thrown grenade. All he could do now was to engage in a firefight as long as he could, keep his distance with pulses of the Gravity Hammer when they came too close, before ultimately taking as many of them down with him as he could in a final melee up close.

Another controlled burst of fire. Reload. Sprays of plasma that melted the heads of a pair of unfortunate grunts, and back to the MA37. Then –

An incredible wave of heat, coupled with a spike of electromagnetic radiation detected by the MJOLNIR Mark 5 –

_Glassing._

The Covenant were finishing up here. He smiled mirthlessly. It seemed like they were finally taking out the big guns. How fortunate of him to be able to join every single Covenant still remaining on Reach in hell.

At the same time, however –

" _Slipspace rupture detected."_

That chime had been ringing for hours now, mere minutes apart at first, before decreasing in frequency. The Covenant fleet high above Reach were in dogged pursuit of the Pillar of Autumn, but Spartan-B312 hoped that his operation of the MAC cannons had bought Keyes the time he needed. A couple Covenant ships had been recalling their ground forces hours ago, but a few well-placed snipes at that time had reduced their numbers, and acted as bait for them to follow him.

Spartans fought to the end.

Sensors spiked instants before he felt the heat on his skin, and then –

-o-o-o-

He didn't know how much time had passed. To him, it had felt like mere instants since his last stand against the Covenant, but the inbuilt date/time display on his HUD was stubbornly malfunctioning.

That, however, didn't matter. He found himself in an unfamiliar environment, and he reacted as he had been trained to do.

Spartan-B312 had been deployed on a colourful assortment of missions before. Infiltration, assassination, search and destroy, demolitions – whether against Covenant or Insurgent forces, he had done them all. After all that, there wasn't much that could faze him.

Even if he hadn't, Spartan-IIIs and their predecessors were a disciplined bunch: training under Mendez, it had been drilled into them all never to be taken by surprise. Panic was a soldier's worst enemy. As part of Spartan-III training, there had been times when they'd been transported elsewhere on Onyx while kept unconscious, with their sole task being to navigate their way back to Camp Currahee.

Come to think of it, there had been that one exercise where they had been sent off-planet too. That had been interesting.

He had no idea how he got where he was. Whether some bizarre hitherto unheard of phenomenon caused by an interaction between the immense radiation given off during the Covenant's glassing of Reach and distortion of slipspace as their remaining crafts pursued the Pillar of Autumn, or an even more unlikely idea of rebirth or reincarnation, Spartan-B312 didn't know how it was he went from Reach to his present location.

It didn't matter.

Beneath his helmet, he quirked a humourless smile. _Spartans never die._

The _how_ that had transported him to where he was now was irrelevant at present. His body ached from hours of combat, but that too was irrelevant.

If he was alive, his top priority was to return to the fight; simple. For that, he needed to make contact with UNSC, and secure transport off-planet.

 _Mission set._ _Plan?_

He found himself in the middle of the ruins of some city – urban-looking, fairly small in size, with the tallest buildings only a couple storeys at the most. There were signs of fighting: spent ammunition, signs of explosive fire, collapsed buildings. Patterns not consistent with Covenant-fielded weaponry. Thermal signatures on his HUD were missing.

Humans did this damage, and evidently, the city he was now in was utterly abandoned.

An Outer Colony planet? He frowned, considering that thought. Most of them had been glassed by the Covenant before he'd even enrolled into the Spartan-III program, but one could have slipped through the cracks. Perhaps one with ties to insurrectionists?

He looked up into the sky, hoping to orientate his relative galactic position based on stars he could observe.

It was then that he saw the first signs of life in an otherwise dead-looking world. Trickles of movement, just barely visible to greatly-enhanced Spartan sight. Without giving a moment's pause, he switched to the optical zoom provided by his helmet.

 _Aircraft, miniscule in size. Approximately 10 centimetres._ And at the magnification he currently was on, he could tell that there were a swarm of them, spread throughout the entirety of the skies as far as he could observe. With practiced ease, he switched over to a different imaging modality.

_As I thought. Signal jammers._

Electromagnetic waves were being distorted, refracted, and otherwise rendered completely moot around them. He saw many different insurgent militia groups employ similar tactics to evade detection by the UNSC in the past, although never on this scale.

One thing was for sure: these drones were not UNSC creations. And if a militant group had the potential to create something like this, they were dangerous. It required investigation.

There was a slight snag, though.

He most definitely wasn't on Reach. In fact, he couldn't even begin to orientate his position in the galaxy. What stars he could observe in the night sky didn't match any constellations that he recognised, even after considering different points of reference across the Orion Arm.

That was mildly worrying, because with the types of missions he typically was employed in, that had been a skill he had required to pick up along the way. Extraction options weren't always the simplest in the far-end of contested space, especially when participating in off-the-book missions alone. There had been many times when he had to steal a ship after successful completion of his mission for return to UNSC space.

Luckily for him, his missions allowed for a certain degree of operational flexibility. At present, his mission was to return to the war against the Covenant. Failing that, a secondary mission until extraction was made possible would be to investigate this planet he currently found himself in, and to take appropriate action in alignment with UNSC interests.

For that, he would need to search for signs of civilisation. Unless the drones up in the sky were fully autonomous mechanical creatures of a long-dead colony, humans _had_ to exist somewhere.

Objectives and plan. Next, then, was considering potential complications.

Attempting to broadcast on UNSC frequency was not viable, with jamming and possible interception of long-range communications. He needed to prepare himself for a mission of undetermined length. For that, two things were of paramount importance.

First, and the lesser of the two: sustenance. He was no stranger to starvation and thirst, but even Spartans succumbed if they had nothing to fuel their bodies with.

Secondly: _weaponry_ , the bread and butter of Spartans. He was down to two clips of the MA37 Assault Rifle, and he was fully out of ammo for the M45-T shotgun. The Gravity Hammer he sadly never had the chance to make use of against the Covenant over the past hours had been low on charge from its previous owner. For tactical options, he was down to his last few grenades.

His remaining weapons were better off: he had a few clips of the 14.5x114mm high-velocity, armour-piercing rounds for his SRS99-AM Sniper Rifle, while his two plasma pistols were down to approximately three-quarters of charge in their energy cells.

And the most important piece of equipment he had on him: the MJOLNIR Mk V Powered Assault Armour. It was still in good shape despite all the combat it had seen on Reach and in his previous missions, although there were scratches, dents, and a few subtle burn marks from damage incurred when his shields were down. It would hold.

Thankfully, the ruins around him looked easy enough to scavenge to solve the above two problems. Whatever happened here, the fighting and destruction had been quick and brutal. Bodies long since decomposed littered the streets.

That exercise in orientating himself and coming up with a plan had taken only a couple seconds at most. Spartans learnt painfully well the value of haste and quick analysis.

Even though all the scanners on his HUD showed no signs of activity, he kept his MA37 trained in front of him, ready to fire at a moment's notice. Mendez had drilled on the importance of trusting one's own eyes, rather than the readouts of scanners that could be misled by dozens of different ways. The UNSC was rife with stories of soldiers who fell victim to such blind trust.

Quickly, he entered one of the buildings. What might have once been a sign had long since been blown to splinters. Still, it was easy enough to recognise the supermarket, from the shelves of items on display, even if most of them were now toppled over, and the products were of dubious value. Each step he took displaced layers of dust.

 _Untouched for a long time. No signs of looting._ He smiled. Bingo. Barely a minute in this foreign environment, and he was getting plenty of useful information.

Whatever had caused this damage, it had been bad enough to deter any would-be looters. Whoever had _won_ the fight had been uninterested in taking the spoils of victory. Dating back to the annals of ancient history to more recent records of UNSC military engagements, similar stories to his current situation were plentiful. Assuming there were survivors from whatever had transpired here, it was obvious enough where to find them: refugees fleeing from an aggressor tended to band together elsewhere as a collective resistance.

In simple terms: all he needed to do was follow the trail of bodies. Eventually, he would encounter civilisation. In the past, his missions had led him to travel across entire planets while hunting down his targets with fewer leads.

Next, then –

Carefully, he made his way through the store, keeping his steps light, his body nimble, ready to burst into a firefight without notice. His MJOLNIR Mk V armour was a dull grey-black, its exterior plain-looking despite the many modifications to its internal systems that had been performed over his many years of service in ONI's more unpleasant tasks against fellow humans and Covenant alike. The hulking armoured form blended with the shadows, a habit formed over the years, barely making a sound despite the combined hundreds of kilograms of mass that armour and Spartan held.

He had engaged night-vision by pure habit from the time he entered the building. One by one, he stepped through the rows of shelves, before finding the prize he was looking for.

Canned food. The expiry date was of nonsensical interpretation – over four hundred years ago, going by the standard UNSC military calendar. Some self-declared independent colonies and insurgencies liked to make up their own little calendar systems. Was this the case here? He had no idea.

Second clue: the location of production.

' _Made in the Lands of the Giadian Empire.'_ The name was unfamiliar, but humanity hadn't seen Empires in any of its colonies for centuries now. That was troubling; finding his way back to the UNSC would be difficult.

Keeping his weapon held in one hand, he dug gauntleted fingers into the lid, easily crushing and deforming it. He inspected the contents. _Excellent._ That was food out of the equation. A quick glance to the side made water a non-concern too.

Next, weapons. Right now, he had enough to get by, but –

Suddenly, he detected multiple motion and sound signatures on his HUD. They were kilometres away, still: that could only mean that they had to be large, heavy, or otherwise noisy. They were moving fairly quickly, although not in a vector directed toward him.

Carefully, he activated the active camouflage module of his MJOLNIR armour, taking slow steps outside. Observation was the priority here. He leapt, tugging himself onto the roof of a building, keeping his body out of line of sight as he moved from vantage point to vantage point, his body blurring in and out of view.

It was then that he saw them.

Five bizarre, insectoid vehicles, moving toward the city with surprising speed and coordination for such cumbersome designs. They were moving at about a comfortable cruising speed of a Warthog, although it was likely they could move faster still in the thick of action. They were medium-sized vehicles, approximately seven to ten metres in length, and about two metres in height.

There were three variants he could see. The first, comprising three of the group of five, was the smallest and lightest, with thin metal armour on its chassis. Primary armaments looked to be a pair of stationary guns on either side of what would have been its 'head', although he couldn't easily discern the exact type of ammunition packed by them.

The second likewise had six legs, but with a pair of long, powerful-looking blades attached to its forelimbs. A massive armament was placed atop the core of its frame – rocket-launcher systems, probably, based on similarities to UNSC design.

The last, largest, and probably most dangerous of the lot, walked on eight limbs. It only had a single armament, the entirety of its firepower concentrated into that one aspect of its design. Larger than the size of the rest of its body, a long cannon was attached at the top, and wouldn't look out of place on an UNSC M808 Main Battle Tank, or Scorpion. Its armour was thicker than its peers: more than likely, it sacrificed speed as well, but its cannon meant serious business.

All three looked almost like someone had taken inspiration from the Covenant _Scarab_ , scaled it down many times, then haphazardly placed UNSC-favoured cannons, chain-guns, and munitions on them, slapped themselves on the back for a job well done and called it a day.

More strikingly, however: like the tiny drones in the sky, there were no discernible humanoid thermal signatures from the vehicle. He could see the vehicle's fuel source and engine where it was hottest, but it seemed to be entirely unmanned.

Their formation was easily recognisable. _Patrol force._ One of the first variant took the vanguard, one more at each flank, keeping a distance between them of about a couple hundred metres. The second variant, potent at both close and medium range, was in the centre of the formation, ready to move to the frontlines at any time. The third lagged behind the others, the core of their group. In a way, it was similar to a patrol group comprising a Scorpion with Warthog escorts.

Cursory inspection done, he looked for weak points, drawing comparison from what he knew of vehicles of both UNSC and Covenant make. While each limb was made to be strong to support the mech's weight, the joints were weak – it had to be, in order to provide manoeuvrability of the unit. Armour plating was thin in certain areas, most notably for the second variant, considering the speed it moved, its size, and the depth its limbs dug into the dirt with each step.

Yes, he could take them down. There were dangers to it: a point-blank, direct shot from the massive mean-looking cannon would likely kill him, MJOLNIR armour or not. Still, he'd dealt with worse odds before.

Really, this was like facing three Ghosts, a Wraith, and a bizarre ground-based Banshee, with more vulnerabilities than the Covenant vehicles. A nightmare to common soldiers, everyday life for a Spartan.

He had two options here. One: stay hidden, and follow their trail later on, since there was no telling what sensor capabilities they had on hand; or two: begin an ambush, and attempt diplomacy once their numbers were sufficiently crippled.

There were pros and cons to both. The first would let him have more time to find his bearings and refine his plans, at the cost of possibly having to engage a more powerful force later. The second would allow a controlled testing of the unknown units with minimal risk to himself so long as he went about it smartly, as well as making contact with whoever was operating those unmanned vehicles, at the cost of revealing his position to his enemies.

Even diplomacy was risky. Without someone physically present in the vehicle, there was no real requirement for negotiations to be carried out. The remotely-operated crafts could continue battling against him, and if their intentions were proven to be hostile, he wouldn't be able to find a hostage to use against other enemies or to interrogate this unknown force about their capabilities.

Ah. There was a _third_ possibility.

Snipe the light units down at their weak points, break their formation, and see how they react. From a distance, with the MJOLNIR active camouflage module enabled to kill all sound, radiation, and every other possible metric that may reveal his location, he could test his theories without having risk to himself.

After all, from his experiences with insurgent groups that got their hands on UNSC equipment, even a Scorpion was nothing to a trained Spartan on its lonesome, so long as there was time for preparation and planning. Take the other units out of the equation, and that powerful-looking heavy vehicle would be a negligible treat.

Right, then. He took a look around his position, as the patrol force travelled across vast, unkempt plains that looked untouched by humankind for a long time. He spied a suitable location from which he could begin engagement, taking into account their vector of travel and possible reactions. With practiced ease, he got in position, sniper rifle at the ready.

_Time to get to work._

The heavy tank slowed its advance as they neared the city. The faster and more vulnerable scout units continued on ahead, splitting into three separate paths as they patrolled. Spartan-B312 looked down the rifle's sights carefully, and performed a quick estimation based on distance, wind speed, and his target's speed and vector of travel.

When the spider-like craft was at a bend in the road, six double-jointed limbs reorienting themselves to perform a turn, he pulled the trigger.

The high-velocity, armour-piercing round flew true, covering the distance of three kilometres in an instant. Metal bent and curved as the bullet impacted its form. He didn't blink even once, carefully watching with augmented vision and reflexes in the merest of instants as the projectile penetrated layers of metal with thoughtful consideration.

He had carefully positioned himself, and picked off the target that would be easiest to take out from his location. The line of fire had directly positioned where the armour looked the thinnest straight through to the core of the craft. With unyielding force, the bullet punctured through several feet of steel, aimed straight through to the power cell, and –

Spartan-B312 watched the fireworks explode, chunks of metal sent flying off in all directions – just as he'd planned.

Now, then. He reviewed what he had seen.

_Too flimsy to be titanium. Weight inconsistent with aluminium. Steel?_

Interesting. Another vulnerability he could exploit. Steel was heavy and fairly durable, but it couldn't compare to the thick armour plating of titanium-ceramic employed by the M808B Main Battle Tanks, or even to the mixture of titanium, carbon nanotubes and ballistic polycarbonates that formed the hull of the Warthog line of military vehicles.

He had to admit it, though. He was impressed by whoever had designed these vehicles. For something like that to be entirely made of steel, its mass had to be immense – somewhere in the range of ten to thirty metric tons. With its speed being nothing to scoff at, the energy cell and engine had to be packing a powerful punch.

Next in the plan was observation. This was no different from tactics he employed against unknown Covenant forces, or against insurgents. If he went into a mission blind, the first task was always to forcibly obtain information with his own hands. He studied the behaviour of the remaining crafts of the patrol group, remaining perfectly still, his body invisible both to the eyes and to any would-be scanners.

They were coordinated. The moment the explosion had occurred, _all_ four of the remaining vehicles had changed their direction, moving in an interception pattern that funnelled in toward the destroyed wreckage. If these were the fire movements of marines in the field, he would be beyond impressed. It required an impressive level of coordination and a total lack of hesitation. Spartans could pull it off.

These tanks, however, weren't marines. They weren't even humans.

It was _too_ coordinated. The manoeuvre was performed virtually flawlessly, with no time passing between destruction of the unit and response by each of the remaining vehicles. That left only one possibility.

A collective intelligence bound these five crafts together, controlling their movements. Reactions were too quick for a regular human, meaning that it had to be an enhanced individual who had went through treatments similar to those of Spartans controlling all five crafts at once, or…

_Artificial Intelligence. AI._

It was by no means merely theoretical. While the UNSC relied on ship captains, with shipboard AI offering tactical support, there had previously been trials of commandeering ships autonomously through AI. The problem there was that dumb AIs were too inflexible – they were experts in one subject area, lacking consideration for things outside of where their programming dictated them. Such inflexibility was a vulnerability, and once studied, was easily exploitable.

The solution, then, was smart AIs. The problem _there_ was that the risk of a smart AI going rogue was possibility greater than even the Covenant. The still-unsolved problem of rampancy compounded that, meaning that any fleet commanded by smart-AIs would eventually be rendered helpless in the best-case scenario, and single-handedly destroy all humanity in the worst.

What, then, was this case? AIs existed on a spectrum – even dumb AIs could range from mere lines of programming and directives, to ones that provided information based on access to multiple databases. He needed to know what was going on here.

The four crafts moved quickly, closing in as a web onto their downed comrade. The two heavy units kept a covering position near the wreckage. One scout scoured the streets for any sign of who had done the deed. The last scout unit was surveying the wreckage, using its forelegs with surprising grace and dexterity, tearing apart its comrade in a fascinating mimicry of a post-mortem. Pieces of metal were scavenged from the destroyed craft, before it finally left to join with the search efforts.

He lay there, perched on the rooftop, invisible to his prey. Should he engage? The scouts were separated, and he could still pick them off. The heavier tanks looked to have more significant firepower, but if he used their fellow units' destruction as bait, he could take them out one by one.

Considerations, considerations. He mulled over the thought, before he got an urgent sense of foreboding.

Spartan-B312 trusted his instincts. It had saved his life – and more importantly, led to mission completion – many times in the field. He held his breath, increasing power supply to the camouflage systems, looking for signs of danger.

His HUD flared to life. Blips and blips coalesced together; discrete at first, before forming a large smear on the coordinate-based radar system. They were far off in the distance, hundreds of kilometres away; triggering his sensors by their sheer size and mass as they moved.

The readings were almost unprecedented for a ground-based assault. Whatever this was, it wasn't a scouting party. Carefully, he looked in that direction.

Spartan-B312's lips thinned into a grim line.

Tanks. Dozens of them; hundreds, _thousands_. More than had been fielded on the recent battles on Reach, and certainly more than what any insurgency he had previously suppressed had been capable of producing or stealing. They could lead a full-on assault. Worse, he doubted this was the entirety of their force: _no one_ would deploy something like that for the destruction of a mere one unit of a scouting party if they didn't have spare reserves.

Seems like he found his fight after all.

And there were still no signs of human operators or foot-soldiers. It was a remotely-operated army, one that might be capable of meeting a full UNSC marine battlegroup on even terms on a land assault – possibly _winning_ , even. If, as he postulated, it was controlled by an AI, the potential threat was far too great to be left unchecked.

There weren't just the three variants of vehicles either. He spotted more types – six, seven of them, accompanied by aerial fighter units that probably covered the anti-aircraft role.

It was unthinkable for a non-UNSC force to have power like this. The relative importance of his secondary objective was now on par with the primary. If such a force was hostile to UNSC, they had to be eliminated, and all details of their capabilities and manufacturing processes made known to the UNSC.

Strange, though. He saw no signs of ships or even satellite in orbit. With production capabilities like that, why wouldn't they defend themselves from a potential orbital bombardment?

Still, Spartan or not – with his present munitions, he couldn't take them out alone.

 _For now, at least_ , he corrected mentally. Give a Spartan enough time, and no problem was unsurmountable.

He preferred to end his missions as quickly and efficiently as he could, but the sheer potential threat a force like this could pose deserved a thorough execution. He crept away from the rooftop, searching for a more secure location before the larger force arrived. For now, his objectives were survival, scavenging together some additional weapons, and searching for civilisation while evading autonomously-controlled forces.

Under his helmet, he grinned.

Seemed like he was in this for the long haul without any field support. _Just like old times_.

-o-o-o-

For 25 days, he had trudged along in this landscape of destruction, scavenging whatever he could along the way. He didn't engage any more patrol groups despite having spotted them many times over – there was no sense in tipping his hand, since the benefit of taking them out would be marginal at best. He had moved from ruined city to ruined city, an endless trail of destruction he now knew the cause of, gathering what information he could.

Every scrap of information he found printed on scavenged goods was valuable. If his interpretation was right, based on the most common location of manufacturing, he had moved from the outskirts of the lands of the ' _Giadian Empire'_ to an area that once belonged to the ' _Republic of San Magnolia'_. The density of enemy forces had changed, too – from where he had initially ended up in, frequency and numbers of enemy contact had decreased at first, before picking up over the last few days as he travelled hundreds of kilometres from where he had originally been.

Now, enemy patrols were even _more_ frequent than they had been before, accompanied by slightly larger mobile assault groups. _Skirmishing forces_.

That could only mean one thing. He had been closer to the heart of enemy operations initially, before treading in the outskirts of enemy-owned ground. If patrols were now increasing, and skirmishing units were being deployed, that had to mean that there was an active battlefront nearby.

He was on the right track. This _had_ to be the direction that the retreating forces had gone in as their unmanned enemies carved a bloody swathe through their towns and cities.

Weaponry was surprisingly sophisticated here. He didn't want to risk revealing his position by testing them out as he scavenged, but human civilisation here appeared to have taken ballistics to the extreme. He couldn't find explosives – whether that was because it was being hoarded by the military, or not used in the form of weaponry designed to be carried on foot, he didn't know.

The assault rifles he had seen in several buildings bore calibre of ammunition that seemed to be on par with armour-piercing rounds of his MA37. He hadn't seen sniper rifles around, but there was ammunition compatible with his SRS99-AM. The information printed on the rust-free metal promised death at a muzzle velocity exceeding 4000m/s, superior even than unmodified standard-issue unmodified UNSC rounds, and comparable with high-velocity rounds.

Sadly, he still couldn't find ammunition for his M45-T shotgun. There wasn't a big mystery as to why: against threats like these unmanned robots, no normal human could get in range to make effective use of shotgun shells.

He lay flat on top of a natural hill formation, granting him an overlook over his surroundings. He had abandoned the small town he'd been in overnight, looting what he could. Over the past days, ruined settlements had grown more common, with signs of recent engagements, a sign that perhaps civilisation was near. In the distance, multiple skirmishing groups of unmanned vehicles were mobilising, headed further in the direction Spartan-B312 had moved over the past month.

It could mean only one thing. An engagement was coming, and soon. He had to know who it was that was fighting these mechanical creatures, and whether or not they had the means of contacting the UNSC. If that was impossible, he had to weigh the situation, and make a judgment in alignment with UNSC interests.

ONI had always given him surprising flexibility in his mission choices.

He didn't have to wait long. Barely thirty minutes after he had settled into his sniper's perch, he saw signs of movement at the same time as sensors picked up heavy acoustics to the west of his current location.

At first glance, they looked to be no different from the types of crafts he had already seen. They were arachnid-like tanks that walked on four legs, armaments visible as attachments on each leg. A large mounted cannon almost like the tail of a scorpion poised to strike was mounted at the top. Like the unmanned scout and medium-sized vehicles he had seen, it was large but mobile, with a length of approximately ten metres and a height of two metres, sacrificing thick armour for ease of movement.

In short: it was a vehicle that provided no coverage from enemy fire save for evasiveness. A clean shot would easily destroy the entirety of that tank. It looked almost as though it was pieced together through reverse-engineering of the unmanned crafts, with the only thing showing signs of decent workmanship being the mounted cannon coming from its back to protrude out in front atop the vehicle.

More importantly, though: _these_ vehicles were manned. The cockpits were fully opaque, and he couldn't see their pilots with his eyes, but the twelve or so spider-like vehicles had a human operator sitting in what passed as a cockpit at its 'head' through his thermal sensors. He looked down his sniper's scope to observe their movements more precisely.

They were veterans. He was impressed; they were forming up decently, taking advantageous positions before the enemy arrived. A portion of the force hid in the corners of ruined buildings, probably looking to catch their enemies in an ambush. Another portion was hiding off shadowed by hills, ready to engage in a pincer attack once the trap was sprung. One vehicle had gone to a nearby sniper's roost atop a hill – whatever armament it held, it could clearly engage enemies at a distance.

They were a coordinated bunch. Despite that, he couldn't discern their means of communication, since every frequency he attempted tuning into in every possible modality inbuilt into his MJOLNIR armour didn't yield any results. _Another oddity._

He considered his options. If the situation called for his intervention, helping them out might place himself in good stead for assistance in contacting the UNSC. Otherwise, even if they proved hostile, eliminating the unknown threat first was always the better option.

With that, keeping himself shadowed from both forces, he edged closer to where the battle would probably begin. There would be multiple fronts, from what he could observe of the movements of the two groups – the ambush in the city, a skirmish off in the plains, a third group that was circling around a forest to strike at immobile high-value targets, a battle near the foot of the hills.

The battle began in earnest. Carefully, he crept slowly to bring himself nearer to the action, able to intervene if necessary. It meant abandoning his overlook position, but it seemed to be worth the trade-off. These forces were _human_ , and thus easily understood. If they were friendly, great – he was sworn to defend Humanity to his dying breath. If they were hostile: they would be easier for him to eliminate than their enemies, since they were ultimately still human and vulnerable.

With that in mind, he observed the battle unfold.

They were _good._ They eliminated enemy heavy-fire support – a large, immobile heavy tank – in a flanking manoeuvre that kicked off the battle, using the forest as an intermediary cover from the more mobile craft but with weaker firepower. At the same time, as the enemy reacted by funnelling in toward their position, small ambush groups sprang out from the hills, decimating them and causing confusion in the ranks of unmanned crafts.

Whatever was controlling the unmanned crafts, it was not very sophisticated. It reacted by simple programming, and though they seemed to have a collective intelligence within their skirmish group, there was a lack of intuition that was now being abused by the human-piloted crafts.

Hell, if marines showed these kinds of tactics back on Reach, he'd gladly welcome them into his fireteam, Spartan or not.

The alpha strike a complete success, the human forces were reorganising themselves. Part of them entered the forest, hiding from bulkier enemies with their greater manoeuvrability. There, a secondary ambushed waited for their enemies, the separated scout units and light crafts being unable to receive support from medium tanks. The ambush in the city was fully executed, all enemies defeated without a single human casualty. The sniper he had seen previously was moving to another ridge higher up, crawling on its legs for a better vantage point. _Flawless communication._

Beta Company had been trained with an emphasis on teamwork, unit cohesiveness, and tactics, after looking over the weaknesses showed by Alpha Company, the pioneer batch of Spartan-IIIs, that led to their decimation at Operation: PROMETHEUS, earning a pyrrhic victory that was the fate of all Spartan-IIIs. Spartan-B312 had been pulled out shortly after completion of his training, avoiding death alongside the rest of his peers he had fought and bled with for the better part of his childhood, but those lessons remained with him all the same.

The humans here weren't quite on the same level as he and his fellow Spartan-IIIs, but it was far beyond most marines and ODSTs he had seen on the field. They knew their enemies' weaknesses, and they gladly exploited them, continually providing cover for each other.

Despite that, this was still only the first groups of enemy skirmishers. More were still approaching, forcing them to reposition themselves.

It was then, into the first few minutes of the battle, that he noticed the first mistake shown by the human side. One pilot was heading off to the side, intending to provide cover fire for its peers out on the plains by flanking at a medium tank-unit. It would have been a brilliant tactic, if not for the _terrain._

 _Marshland._ It sprung out from the edge of the forest, and shadowed by the nearby hills, looked almost like grassland. He frowned, as one human-controlled vehicle edged closer to the marsh, time slowing down dramatically to his adrenaline-fuelled Spartan senses. Nearby, one of the unmanned heavy tanks with the Scorpion-like mounted cannon had been positioned there, now staying completely motionless as it waited in hiding. Only his previous observation of the battle and marking of units on his HUD, coupled with readings on his thermal scanners alerted him to its position.

_Counter-ambush._

A trap. It seemed the enemy wasn't as unsophisticated as he'd thought.

Spartan-B312 considered his options. Engage. Observe. Which was better?

The front legs of the human-operated vehicle fell into the turbid marshland, stumbling ungracefully – and became stuck.

The enemy finally made its move, nearing closer to the entrapped human vehicle. At that distance, it couldn't fire its cannons, but it didn't need to. It raised its two front legs, its weight supported by the remaining six, intending to simply _slice_ through the metal cockpit and pilot of its helpless prey by sheer force of mass alone.

For an instant, an image flashed in his mind's eye; Kat-B320, with her shields down, killed by a single spike from a needle rifle before any of them could react.

Adrenaline raged.

Time stood still…

…and Spartan-B312 _acted._

-o-o-o-

Shin deftly piloted his Juggernaut, dancing between volleys of machine-gun fire from the enemy Ameise units, placing them between himself and the Löwe's heavy mounted 120mm turret several hundred metres away. Up close, he sprung high-frequency blades attached to his Juggernaut's limbs, slicing his way through the weakly-armoured scouts, crippling the Legion's support.

In his mind, he could hear everything his squadron was hearing, their senses connected by their Para-RAID devices as they were. It allowed for the transmission of all senses by tapping on some hidden aspect of the human mind, but out in the field, it was safer simply to share hearing for communication purposes. There was only so much information one person could process.

" _Handler One to Undertaker, four units are approaching from your eleven o'clock."_

He knew that, of course. Still, being able to 'hear' the voices of the Legion was something the Handler didn't need to know.

Undertaker was his Personal Name, granted to the ranks of the Eighty-Six who had fought in countless battles and emerged triumphant in the hell of war. He and the rest of his squadron were part of the rare few who survived in this metal coffin they called Juggernauts that would cave from a single clean hit by Legion tanks. Correspondingly, they were the only squadron consisting of Processors where the majority had Personal Names.

"Understood, Handler One. Laughing Fox, Black Dog, interception course."

" _Got it_ ," two voices answered in unison. On the screens of his cockpit, he saw them alter their course, taking up a flanking position that would allow them to open fire on them, with himself acting as bait.

He spared a moment to glance at the map displayed on one of his many screens. The battle was going smoothly so far. Zero casualties, and the initial Legion strike force was thoroughly crippled. Hopefully, the rest of the battle would go on that way. Gunslinger was still in sniping position, her higher terrain allowing her to evade fire from the Löwe units. And off to the side, Kirschblüte was moving to support Wehrwolf and Snow Witch.

All Personal Names, of course. Out in the field, they wouldn't use their own names.

Something gnawed at his senses, and he grew tense. They were what had let him survive for so long, fighting in the way that he did. He looked at his displays searchingly, idly evading a string of machine gun fire as he piloted his Juggernaut toward cover. Then –

" _Get out of there, Kirschblüte_!"

Handler One's panicked voice echoed in his mind. Time seemed to slow down, as his eyes snapped toward the display. The blip that corresponded with her unit had disappeared.

" _Huh?"_ Kirschblüte's confused voice sounded for an instant, morphing into panic and realisation bare moments after. _"What is this…? A marsh?!"_

In his head, he heard the sound of a Legion unit closing in rapidly on Kirschblüte's position. _A Löwe._ It didn't have the high frequency blades or manoeuvrability of the Dragoon-type Grauwolfs, but it didn't need to. Immobilised as she was, Kirschblüte couldn't escape.

" _I'm stuck!"_

"Kirschblüte, get out of there _now!"_ Shin shouted a desperate warning. His heart ran cold. The Löwe moved closer, slow compared to its peers, but speed was meaningless if his friend couldn't _move_.

" _Oh…"_

Her voice was filled with despair.

 _No,_ Shin pleaded. He turned his unit to face that direction, but he was too far away to see a thing, powerless to stop what would happen.

Over the Para-RAID, a deathly silence took hold, as all twelve remaining members of Spearhead Squadron alongside Handler One saw the inevitability that was to come.

" _No…_ "

A faint, weak plea, more vulnerable than he had heard Kirschblüte – no, Kaie – say before. It was almost like a child on the verge of tears.

" _I don't want to die…"_

" _KIRSCHBLÜTE!_ " Gunslinger screamed, her voice laced with mixed despair and desperation.

Then there was the sound of metal screeching, the roar of bullets, and a heavy impact.

An instant passed. Death didn't come. He was just as confused as Kaie.

"Kirschblüte?!"

" _What…?!"_ Kaie's voice sounded confused, fearful, and yet stirring with hope.

To his senses, the Löwe's presence _disappeared._

" _What's going on, Kirschblüte?!"_

His eyes snapped to the display. There was a _third_ blip there, much smaller than Kaie's Juggernaut and the downed Löwe, almost invisible to their sensors. A level, firm voice echoed in the minds of all thirteen of them connected over the Para-RAID, sounding slightly distorted, but the words were loud and clear.

" _This is UNSC Sierra-B312. What's your status, soldier?"_


	2. Chapter 2

Aim down the scope, target the joints. Fire.

Snap to the second raised limb. Aim. Fire.

Two bullets were propelled at high velocities from his sniper rifle, punctuated by a fraction of tens of milliseconds apart. Before the bullets traversed the hundreds of metres separating him and their target, he was breaking into a sprint, the sniper rifle slung across him, snapping out a single plasma pistol.

Spartan-III's were many-times faster than regular humans, thanks to rigorous training and their augmentations. The MJOLNIR Powered Assault Armour further bolstered that inhuman speed.

The result: Spartan-B312, latest designation Noble-Six, could sprint at speeds exceeding a hundred kilometres per hour. He ran, not in the slightest bit encumbered by the marshland thanks to the thin layer of energy shielding extending millimetres from his armour, cutting the distance between them in a matter of seconds.

Even during that time, he wasn't in the slightest bit idle. The enemy tank had been caught off-balance as its front two limbs broke free from the joints, but it could support itself on the remaining six. It regained balance, moving toward its still entrapped foe.

 _Time for part two,_ he thought. He raised the plasma pistol, that had already been gathering a charge for a good few seconds, aiming it dead centre at the target.

He fired.

Superheated plasma flew through the air, impacting against steel, burning through a thick layer of armour. That wasn't his primary objective, but it would greatly simplify things. A bonus, really.

No, what his plan relied on was the effect that a concentrated ball of white-hot plasma would have on electromagnetic circuits the instant it collided with the vehicle. There was a spark, as a pulse of electromagnetic energy coursed through the vehicle, its systems powering down, utterly immobile.

It was a tactic that he had used many times before on Covenant Wraiths and Spectres. Immobilise them from afar, cut the distance, and destroy them by any means necessary.

Through all that, he was _still_ running. Then, he leapt, aimed straight at the hole in the armour that had been created courtesy of his plasma pistol. He slammed a heavy fist down on it, feeling the metal buckle beneath his gauntlet. Shields shimmered, draining mildly from superheated and vaporised metal.

Then again, and again, until all that was left was a metal heap, sparks and miniature explosions erupting through its circuits.

 _Threat neutralised._ Six point zero three seven seconds had passed since he left cover.

With that, he took a quick glance at the battlefield. The enemy was reacting to his sudden appearance, a remarkably quick change in behaviour occurring through all the different skirmishes occurring across the distributed battleground. If he had any doubts that these foes weren't human-controlled before, this now erased them.

He turned his attention to the trapped pilot. As he noted before, the cockpit was fully opaque – sensors had to transmit information within, much like the M808B Main Battle Tank. Switching to thermal sensors briefly, he noted that the pilot was still alive. Good.

"This is UNSC Sierra-B312. What's your status, soldier?" he questioned curtly, spinning back around, eyeing the battlefield and his HUD displays for new threats, sniper rifle at the ready.

For a few brief moments, there was silence. He frowned. He gave another passing glance, no more than a few milliseconds worth. The pilot was speaking, based on the thermal images, but no sound was being heard.

Evidently, the human pilots could communicate with each other. How, though? He wasn't picking up any electromagnetic waves being used to broadcast information between them.

Then, at last, he heard a voice speak up from the speakers of the downed vehicle.

" _W-who are you_? _Are you Legion?_ "

The pilot was young-sounding female, with a passing panic in that voice. Not quite what he'd expected, but the battlefield was no place for hysteria.

"Calm yourself, soldier!" he barked, silencing her words. "I repeat: your status?"

That seemed to steel her slightly. "My Juggernaut is stuck – I can't move from the swamp."

 _Juggernaut._ Interesting name for their vehicles, considering how flimsy their design was. It relied more heavily on manoeuvrability for survival than straight-out armour.

He grunted in affirmation. Then –

"Brace yourself, soldier."

"H-huh?"

Without grace or hesitation, he planted his feet firmly in the turbid marsh, knees bent slightly. Then, with both hands placed on the undersurface of the vehicle, he _pushed_ with arms and legs.

It was mildly heavy, close to ten tons, he would expect. Still, he could flip Scorpions and Wraiths. This wasn't much in comparison. The front two limbs were raised free from the poor terrain, and with some exertion, he pushed the vehicle back out of the marshy terrain.

"W- _WHAT?!"_

There was mixed incredulity and awe in that voice, something many-a-Spartan heard before.

"Regroup with your squad," he ordered firmly. "There are six more hostiles in the swamp. Leave them to me."

Then, sensors blared, and driven by pure instinct, he barked out another order.

"BRACE!"

"LOOK OUT!" the pilot screamed, an unnecessary action, given that he was already reacting to the situation.

Planting himself firmly in the marsh, he deployed a drop-shield that expanded and surrounded them both, just mere instants before a shell would have impacted against their position. The orange, tessellating hexagons of the tactical deployment flared red for an instant, a sign of how powerful the munitions that had been deployed against them was.

 _150mm shells_. Those heavy tanks packed a serious punch. Not quite as fast as a Scorpion's 90mm tungsten shells, but with firepower that was decently close enough given their sheer numbers.

He looked down his scope, aiming in the direction where he had seen the shell come from. The eight-legged variant was sited about a kilometre away, cannon barrel still smoking, preparing itself for a second shot that would obliterate the drop shield.

He would have to snap a series of quick shots the moment the shield dome faded; take out the cannon where it was thinnest as it joined to the main body. He aimed down the sights, readying himself –

Then, with a burst of cannonfire, the pilot who had been in the sniper's roost launched a shell straight at the offending tank. A second craft on the opposite side of the march likewise peppered it with armour-piercing rounds. It caved in under the assault, exploding moments later.

He gave a slight cordial nod of respect between soldiers in their direction, noting a slight jerk of the vehicle placed at the sniping position. Perhaps that pilot was surprised to be detected. Still, there was no time to be idle.

"Reconvene with your squad. I'll buy you some space."

"W-wait! You – you don't even have a Juggernaut! You can't!"

"Negative." With that quick word, he let loose a quick burst of sniper fire, destroying two of the weaker scout units closing in on them by aiming at their energy cells. They were mobilising to the new threat he posed, and he needed to _move._ "I have the gun. _Get moving, soldier!"_

And with that – he nudged her craft slightly, spurring her into motion, as he broke into a dash across the swamp. Bullets flew around him from mounted machine guns of the scout units, munitions on par with the standard MA37 assault rifle. He dodged most, the rest glancing off his shields, draining its charge mildly. Heavy shells impacted across the battlefield, but he dodged them skilfully, leaping and sprinting from cover to cover.

Then, with just several hundred metres between him and his prey, he switched tactics. After this long period of observation, he saw a huge fundamental flaw in whoever had designed the heavy tank variants.

Though its mounted 150mm cannon could destroy other tanks in an instant, movement of the cannon was slow and cumbersome, much like the UNSC Scorpions. It was why the Scorpion was supported with additional M247T Medium Machine Guns, and why a typical assault group had four marines riding on the treads to provide cover against mobile enemies. This tank, however, relied purely on its cannon.

Therefore: Spartan-B312 leapt, his momentum carrying him high into the air, and activated his thruster pack.

With that sudden burst of speed, he was propelled far too fast for his enemies to follow. The fired shell from its mounted cannon missed by a wide margin. He reoriented himself in mid-air, unslinging his looted Gravity Hammer, and then activated his jetpack, propelling him back _down_ toward the hostile tank.

A single swing of altered gravity caused metal to cave inward, simultaneously expanding outward, the paradoxical movements turning the tank into wreckage.

_One down._

Five left. Three of the scout units, and two of the medium tanks that carried rocket-launchers and blades angled upwards on their forelimbs.

He rolled through the sludge, riding his momentum, and then leapt at one of the medium tanks. Probably a suicidal venture to most people, considering its fierce-looking blades that he now noted were vibrating at a high frequency, but Spartan-B312 was undaunted. He was not _'most people'._

He was a _Spartan-III._

A second swing of his gravity hammer likewise sent it to join its ally in whatever hell mechanical monstrosities went to.

_Two down._

Sadly, that used up what little charge of his Gravity Hammer he had left, and he doubted he would have the chance to find another. Alas. He unceremoniously tossed the weapon aside, unslinging his assault rifle.

He unloaded six-round concentrated bursts at each of the scouts. In return, their retaliatory spray of bullets pinged off his shields, draining it down to half. His projectiles struck at the lightly-armoured foes, each shot driving a deeper wedge into metal plating, before the final shot of each burst pierced deep into its circuitry and caused each tank to burst into explosions of sound, sparks, metal, and flames.

 _Five down._ Five point three-two-five seconds since he had taken down the first heavy tank.

Unfortunately, these unmanned crafts were taller than the human-operated Juggernauts, and weren't encumbered by the marshy terrain with its longer and nimbler strut-like limbs. The last medium-tank was closing in, and he could hear the whir of blades vibrating at high frequency.

Those blades that possibly could shred through even a Scorpion's thick titanium-ceramic armour plating would spell certain death for any other person.

Again, he reiterated: B312 was a _Spartan._

Everything was proceeding just as he'd planned, really.

He noted something from observing the battle. The enemy was willing to sacrifice its own allies if necessary, but would otherwise take the path that preserved itself. Therefore, with his distance to that tank being as close as it was, it wouldn't make use of its rocket launchers to attempt to take him out.

Without hesitation, just as he had foreseen, he placed his right foot forward, leaning his body over, the fist of his right hand placed down firmly into the marshy ground. To an observer, it looked almost like an acknowledgement of death, as the blades drew ever closer.

" _NO!"_ he heard the pilot he had saved previously faintly scream out from a distance, transmitted by the speakers of her vehicle. At least she seemed to have repositioned herself back in formation with her team, although she really should have gotten her head back into the fight.

With that, as the tank advanced rapidly, with the blades less than a metre away, he executed his planned manoeuvre.

_Armour lock._

Immediately, hypercharged shields flared to life, an intense burst of an artificial gravitational field locking him and his armour in position. The hunched over form of the Spartan-III became an immovable object.

And approaching him was a very much stoppable force of over twenty tons of steel travelling at high velocity.

He hid a smile, as the tank was _bisected_ by its own force as it attempted to slice him to bits with its blades as though a mere pebble in its path. Newton's third law in action. It probably never expected their roles to be reversed; facing the resistance of an invulnerable mountain when its force was but a gust of wind to the Spartan.

Right, then. _Six hostiles down._ Around himself, his shields were flaring, recharging back to full strength.

Without missing a beat, he returned to the fight, the only place a Spartan truly belonged.

-o-o-o-

Kaie gaped, staring at the wreckage in the distance that had once been a Grauwolf. She had seen Grauwolf blades cut down her friends and other Eighty-Six many times before. Their work was gruesome – those blades passed as easily through steel as flesh, making mince out of Processor and Juggernaut.

Just when she had thought her saviour would have died just bare _seconds_ after hauling her out of the marsh, he had somehow done the impossible, splitting the Grauwolf's frame in two as it impacted against his immobile form, twin pieces of wreckage flying past him before exploding into pieces a fair distance away.

Then, he just stood up nonchalantly, and charged right into another group of Legion drones.

" _Kirschblüte, come in! What's your status?"_

"Kirschblüte to Handler One," she spoke, her heart still racing, as her mind returned to the battle. "I'm fine. Moving to flank the Löwe by Laughing Fox's position."

" _He stood against a charging Grauwolf."_ Daiya sounded awed. " _He didn't dodge or evade – he just fucking stood there."_

" _For real?"_

Kaie repositioned her Juggernaut, aimed carefully on her screens, and unloaded a barrage of fire from the 57mm cannons of her Juggernaut. "For real," she confirmed.

" _Who is he?"_ Handler One spoke up from wherever she was, safe behind the Republic's walls. " _I… the readings don't match a Juggernaut…"_

"He's moving around in armour," Kaie said for the benefit of Handler One, who wasn't physically present on the battlefield. "He doesn't _have_ a Juggernaut."

" _He's moving on foot?!"_

She had taken a look at his armour-clad form when he had rescued her out of the marsh. His armour was a dull grey-black of thick metal encompassing his entire body, well over two metres in height. On the shoulder-plate of his armour was printed four letters, displayed proudly: _UNSC._ He had lifted her Juggernaut with his bare hands as though it was nothing, created some kind of bubble-shield that had taken a Löwe's shell head-on, and then moved on to other Legion units waiting in ambush in the marsh.

He didn't pilot a Juggernaut, darting about the battlefield entirely on foot, flying and evading from cannon-fire using the jetpacks mounted on his back. His weapons of choice were bizarre as well – what kind of person would wield an _assault rifle_ up against a Grauwolf and Löwe?! – but every shot he fired was frighteningly precise, making up for the weaker firepower of his weapons compared to the Juggernaut's cannons by sheer accuracy and precision that homed in on the Legion tanks' weak spots. Within a matter of seconds, they were all destroyed.

Shin didn't even sound fazed after Kaie had haltingly reported her unexpected rescue and survival. " _Kirschblüte, Snow Witch, Wehrwolf. Four Legion units at bearing 030, distance 1200, headed for our mysterious friend. Intercept and destroy."_

"Affirmative, Undertaker, _"_ she said quickly, piloting her Juggernaut in that direction.

" _How are you so calm about this?!"_ Theo spoke incredulously, as he fought a skirmish alongside Haruto and Chise elsewhere on the battlefield. _"He's moving on foot? Dude, he's even_ more _reckless than you, Undertaker!"_

That was true. No one was insane enough to fight Legion units the way Shin did, going up close and using high-frequency blades and greater manoeuvrability of his Juggernaut unit to cause havoc and disrupt Legion tanks. The armoured soldier was likewise darting between a storm of bullets and shells with a speed and mobility that matched or even _surpassed_ a Juggernaut, tearing them apart with the weapons he had at his disposal.

With two of them on the field, the Legion units were being stirred into a panicked frenzy, their movements uncoordinated. Shin was destroying their drones on one side, supported by Theo, Daiya, and Kurena, while the armoured man was battering at them with fists and bursts of assault rifle fire on the other side, backed by herself, Anju, and Raiden. Everyone else was taking down fleeing Legion targets.

In a matter of minutes, victory was all but assured, one of the fastest skirmishes that Spearhead squadron had engaged in at the 1st Ward of the Eastern Front.

At the end, she watched, awed, as he flew from the air, thruster packs launching him first to the left and then to the right, evading two shots from a Löwe as he drew closer to a Grauwolf, before pummelling it with his fists while riding on it fearlessly despite the whirring of its high-frequency blades that couldn't reach him from where he was atop it.

Then, he had straight-up _ripped_ one of the limbs of the Grauwolf free from its body after it had been destroyed, and charged toward the Löwe with the limb that had to weigh hundreds of kilograms. He leapt, angled himself, and with a thrust of his jetpacks, impaled the Löwe with the Grauwolf's sharp limbs, the same ones that had easily destroyed both pilot and Juggernaut many times over.

The same fate that would have happened to her, had he not arrived when he did.

Even then, when all was completely still around him, he crept up along the side of a cliff, aimed down the sights of his sniper rifle at the retreating Legion units, and in less than a second fired two quick shots that destroyed a pair of fleeing Ameise with frightening precision.

Just who _was_ he?

The battle drew to a close. The Para-RAID was strangely silent, as they piloted their crafts toward the plains in the centre of where all the various skirmishes had erupted. The mysterious soldier jogged over – she said _jogged_ , but he was moving at cruising speed of a regular vehicle – and stood a fair distance away from Spearhead squadron. In his hands, he held his assault rifle, angled downward away from them, but she had no doubt he was capable of springing into action at a moment's notice.

His expression hidden behind his dark helmet, Kaie had no idea what the soldier was thinking.

-o-o-o-

Unknown to Kaie, Spartan-B312 was likewise analysing the twelve Juggernauts arrayed in front of him, that were keeping a distance of several tens of metres between each unit in their formation. Being allies in the thick of battle was one thing, but there was no telling whether they would respond with aggression now that it was over.

Still, he could probably eliminate them all if the situation demanded it. While manoeuvrable, their crafts were fragile. They abused their unmanned enemies' lack of tactical flexibility in the field, but a Spartan was a force of reckoning unto itself.

For long moments, no one spoke.

Then, from one unit that he had seen right in the thick of action elsewhere on the field while he'd been observing from his vantage point, speakers blared to life. " _Thank you for rendering assistance to Kirschblüte and joining Spearhead squadron against the Legion."_

The Spartan gave a slight twitch of his head that might have passed as a nod. "A pleasure, soldier."

Under thermal imaging, it was clear that the pilots were communicating with each other, although he still couldn't fathom as to _how_. It didn't matter, though. He had finally found civilisation.

Kirschblüte was probably the callsign of the pilot he had rescued. _Cherry blossom,_ if he remembered his German right. Contextually, the Legion were obviously the swarms of unmanned tanks; an apt description.

And if his hypotheses from over the past month were correct, he was very, _very_ far from UNSC-controlled space. There were first contact scenarios to abide by: attempt diplomacy first, and contact high command. Failing that, proceed at the ranking officer's best discretion. In situations of hostility, make every attempt to de-escalate, but respond with equal aggression if the situation demanded it.

It sounded simple, but there were no first contact scenarios in UNSC protocol for if said 'aliens' were in fact _human_. It raised tremendous questions for scientists and the UNSC, but this wasn't his place to question humanity's origin. He looked at the opaque cockpit of the one who had spoken, that the others seemed to defer to as their leader.

"I am UNSC Sierra-B312. I believe that we have many things to discuss."

Again, there was a flurry of discussion coming from the pilots that he couldn't hear. Finally, their leader spoke. " _Follow us to base. We'll talk there."_

"Affirmative."

With that, he jogged behind their crafts, as they made their way from the battlefield toward a run-down command structure just slightly more than ten kilometres away.

Then, they exited their crafts one by one.

They were an odd bunch.

They were fairly young for soldiers, but not for Spartans. There were twelve of them; three girls, nine boys. He'd peg the oldest down at around 20 – the same as his own – and the youngest at possibly 13 or 14; roughly the age that Spartan-III training concluded.

They appeared to be veterans in the field, and at the same time _weren't_. There was too much trust they were showing to him here: Spartan-B312 would never have exposed himself to vulnerability the same way they did, exiting their crafts in front of him before negotiations began. Perhaps they recognised the potential threat he posed, and were using this as a gesture of trust, but he thought it was still a little naïve of them.

Their eyes were hardened from battle, but their bodies weren't. There were some signs of musculature required for piloting of the crafts and executing the manoeuvres they performed on a regular basis with their Juggernauts, but lacking athleticism that came from military training. Their movements lacked military discipline, possessing a certain sloppiness to them, a bizarre mix of behaviour from both war-forged veterans and civilians.

"Follow me," the leader spoke, moments after exiting his Juggernaut. He was a teenager with striking red eyes and black hair, standing two heads shorter than Spartan-B312: a respectable feat, considering his augmentations and natural genetics.

"Understood."

He caught bits of chatter from the other members of Spearhead squadron as he was led through corridors of a command building that hadn't been properly maintained for a long time. It was yet again another sign that these bunch weren't the same soldiers he was used to in service to the UNSC, but there was no doubt of their experience in the field. Odd.

Some were not-so-subtly gesturing at him behind his back. He glanced at them, but to their credit, didn't even flinch, and in fact grew more excited. There were _marines_ made of less hardy stock than them, speaking of the armoured Spartans in fearful terms whenever their missions had them lead regular UNSC troops. Not that Spartan-B312 ever experienced that before Reach, of course.

One of them hesitantly stepped beside him, as they continued walking through the corridors. He glanced at her, recognising who she was through the FOF-tagging he had quickly performed as they exited their crafts. She was far shorter than he, with black hair and eyes, her hair bundled in a neat and short ponytail. She seemed on the older end of the age spectrum in relation to her peers, but young for a soldier.

He tilted his head slightly, wondering what she wanted. "Soldier?"

"Oh!" she jumped – another sign that they lacked a certain military discipline, although there _were_ marines who reacted the same way when addressed by Spartans. "I just… thank you for saving me!"

He nodded almost imperceptibly. "Just doing my duty, soldier."

She looked like she was about to say more, but they reached their destination, their leader entering a large room and gesturing for him to do the same. It was a command office, but like everything else in the building, wasn't maintained to the same standard to those of the UNSC.

They filed in around him, moving to seats scattered around the room. He continued standing at attention.

"You're not sitting?"

"I'm more comfortable standing," he replied dryly, as their leader took his place behind his desk. "Besides, I'm fairly sure my armour will break your furniture."

He'd certainly made that mistake before, as had many Spartans. Their combined mass was in the range of five hundred kilograms.

With that, he hesitated for a moment, wondering how he should begin negotiations. His military history had been littered with missions of the exact opposite, suppressing insurgent threats and eliminating key Covenant resources. Diplomacy was something new to him.

Their leader waited patiently. Finally, Spartan-B312 began.

"To clarify: you are the commanding officer in charge of your squadron?"

There, they hesitated for a moment. Then, calmly, the boy spoke. "Technically, Handler One is in command."

That surprised him. He looked to be in charge. Still, he continued as protocol dictated. "I would like to negotiate with your commanding officer."

"That's… a little difficult," he said. "We're on Para-RAID."

"Para-RAID?"

"You've never heard of it?" another boy spoke up from the side, and he turned in that direction. "Where are you from? Are you like… Empire?"

"Laughing Dog," their not-leader warned, before facing the Spartan once more, speaking factually and calmly. "The Para-RAID device links our senses together by tapping on some part of the human mind. In the field, we hear what each other hears. Handler One is in charge of our squadron, and communicates with us through the Para-RAID from inside the Republic."

 _Para-RAID?_ That had to be why he hadn't detected any broadcasting of communication between their units. As for his explanation, though: somewhere, an ONI spook would be dying to understand every detail of what this strange technology entailed. It sounded frankly _amazing_ , being able to maintain communications without the risk of interception, while possibly allowing for increased cohesiveness within a unit through sharing of senses.

There were risks too, probably. The human mind could only process so much information. He would know: from what he had read of restricted UNSC files, the Spartan-II augmentations had a high risk of failure, part of which was due to dramatically enhanced senses and firing of neurones that were incompatible with the vast majority of most candidates' bodies. The augmentations for Spartan-IIIs had a much higher success rate.

He didn't reveal any of that, however, instead pushing the discussion forward. "The Republic of San Magnolia?" Spartan-B312 asked, remembering the name from what he had found in ruined towns and cities.

The boy nodded, a small amount of confusion leaking into his eyes, but was otherwise fully calm.

"I see. Is there any means of communicating directly with Handler One?"

There was a brief pause. "Unfortunately, no."

"In that case, I shall assume that communication with you is representative of the ranking officer of your squadron."

"Sure."

"Again, to clarify: you have never before heard of the UNSC?" A pause, before a shake of the head. "The Covenant?" Likewise. He paused briefly, considering the details of the Cole Protocol. He wouldn't betray Earth's location with what he had planned, and so he continued. "Earth?"

 _That_ clinched the deal, setting his hypothesis into stone, as that earned another shake of the head. Humanity had somehow sprung on whatever planet he currently was on, despite never having originated from Earth. First-contact protocols were in place.

With that, he stood at attention, snapping a respectful salute. "I am Spartan-B312, acting as a representative of the United Nations Space Command. I would like to formally request a mutual exchange of information and proceed further into diplomatic negotiations."

There was stunned silence for a moment.

"W-when you say space…" another boy began asking slowly. "Do you mean you're an _alien?"_

He hesitated at that question. According to protocol, a first-contact scenario was ideally performed in accordance with smart military dressing wherever possible. That wasn't viable, so he looked to the next alternative. There was minimal risk to himself at one option to address that question.

And so, he removed his helmet. "Negative," he said, noting their surprise at his facial features, a couple of gasps coming from sides of the room."To address your question: I am human. However, I do not originate from your planet."

Again, silence reigned, and Spartan-B312 privately wondered just why it was that he had ended up in a situation where first-contact protocol was demanded of him. He should be out there in the field, fighting against this new potential threat to the UNSC.

"I see."

Their leader sounded just as calm as ever. He could respect that. He placed his helmet back on, and then continued.

"Has your planet not yet discovered faster-than-light travel?" It honestly surprised him, given the scale and capability he had seen of the Legion tanks. Humanity had discovered slipstream space more than two hundred years ago, and this planet's vehicles were comparable to the UNSC's.

"Unfortunately, no," the leader spoke, a hint of humour leaking through his words.

"Undertaker?!" the one he knew as Kirschblüte burst out. " _How are you so calm?"_ Then, she turned to face the Spartan. "You – you're actually from another _planet_?"

 _Undertaker._ An interesting callsign.

"Affirmative." He considered his next words. They required an explanation, and it would help with obtaining information about this _Legion_ of theirs. It didn't break ONI secrecy policy, anyway, since this was something all humans knew by now. "The exact mechanics of how I came to be transported to your planet are unclear to me. Regardless, while facing a threat to all Humanity known as the Covenant, I believe that an interaction of phenomena led to the opening of a slipspace portal that bypassed even regular slipstream physics.

"I found myself within the ruins of a city approximately one hundred and fifty kilometres east-southeast of here, at bearing 121.67 relative to this location. From there, I discovered the existence of unmanned drones you termed the Legion. Based on my inferences, I believed that they represent a threat to UNSC interests, and sought to look for further information."

He held out a gauntleted hand, a holographic representation of the map he had created through his navigation appearing there. They seemed to have this technology, at least, because they didn't look too surprised by that.

"Over the past twenty-five days, I have moved progressively toward this direction in search of any sign of civilisation, following Legion numbers and distribution. I observed the beginnings of your battle – your squadron conducts itself well." He gave a slight nod of respect. "From there, I noticed one of your numbers being funnelled into an ambush, and thought it best to intervene in light of our shared interests against this Legion."

They were silent, staring at the projected map that depicted the meandering route he had taken over the past month.

"You survived _twenty-five days_ ," one boy said disbelievingly. "Twenty-five days, out in Legion-controlled territory. Alone. On foot."

Was that a question? He wasn't sure, but he assumed it to be.

Spartan-B312 nodded. "Affirmative."

"How?!"

That treaded a little close to restricted information on the MJOLNIR's capabilities. "I evaded detection through pre-emptive movements away from Legion positions based on sensors in my armour," he said, toeing as close as he could to the truth without revealing unnecessary information. "Any further questions?"

He addressed the leader directly. Hopefully, he represented the ranking officer's interests here. Undertaker paused for a moment, probably listening to what this phantom 'Handler One' was communicating to him. For a brief instant, there was a wave of surprise across his face.

"Handler One – Major Vladilena Milizé – expresses surprise and empathy at the circumstances, and thanks you for support in today's battle," he communicated. "On behalf of the Republic of San Magnolia, she is keen to engage in discussion against the Legion threat."

 _Major._ Technically, that outranked him.

"Understood, Major Milizé." He glanced at each of those physically present in the room, reading their mixed expressions. Uncertainty, awe, incredulity, surprise, perhaps fear. Understandable, considering the circumstances. There was some _resentment_ , but it didn't seem to be directed at him.

 _Why?_ There was something fundamental he still didn't understand here. It was probably best to start the establishment of good relations here, a brand of work so conflicting to his usual missions it felt almost wrong.

"Your names?"

There was a second wave of surprise, one that almost rivalled his initial declaration of being an alien to this planet. Beneath his helmet, he frowned. Did they not have _names?_

Then, at last, Undertaker spoke. "Shinei Nouzen. My Personal Name is Undertaker."

That kicked off the introductions. Raiden Shuga, _Wehrwolf._ Kurena Kukumila, _Gunslinger._ Anju Emma, _Snow Witch._ Theoto Rikka, _Laughing Fox._ Haruto, _Falke._ Daiya Irma, _Black Dog. Kaie Taniya,_ Kirschblüte. Then, there were Chise, Touma, Kuroto, Kino and Matthew.

"And you, big guy?" Kaie asked curiously, once the round of introductions concluded.

He tilted his head slightly to one side quizzically. "Spartan-B312."

"That's like – your Personal Name, or something, right?" she asked without pause. "I meant your real name."

That –

Spartan-B312 had abandoned his real name long ago, the same day the rest of Beta Company had been all but annihilated on Pegasi Delta. He _should_ have perished with the rest of the men and women he had trained and drilled with. His survival was only due to being pulled out of Beta Company for what ONI superiors called 'exemplary performance'.

He knew, though, that he was no special Spartan. They had achieved victory at the cost of their lives, and the man who formerly was Spartan-B312 died with them.

For years, he had operated as a lone wolf, taking down targets as ONI directed. The only time he ever felt that sense of cohesiveness and camaraderie as he had back in Beta Company, drilled on unit cohesiveness as they were, was in his final few weeks on Reach as part of Noble Company.

And so, he gave his name.

"Noble-Six," he said, nodding slightly. "You can call me Six. Let's begin."


	3. Chapter 3

"I see," Six said thoughtfully, once Shin had finally finished relaying all the information he had requested. He stared at the scattered papers in deep silence.

Kaie glanced anxiously at him. With his helmet on, there was no way she could tell anything about his reaction.

They had talked about the Legion's capabilities. Shin had described the Ameise scout units, Dragoon-type Grauwolf, the tank-type Löwe, artillery-type Skorpions, anti-air aerial Stachelschwein, and communications-jamming Eintagsfliege. He had listened in silence, clarifying points every here and there, requesting for pictures and schematics of what they had available.

He had asked about the state of other countries, of which precious little was known. With long range communications jammed by the Eintagsfliege up in the sky, countries hadn't been able to communicate with each other for other ten years, ever since the Legion offensive first began. It amazed Kaie that he had trudged through ruins controlled by the Legion in lands of the former Giadian Empire, and somehow made it all the way to the Eastern Front.

Then, the discussion had moved on to the Republic's war against the Legion, and the role that the Eighty-Six played – the official version, of course. With Handler One – _Lena,_ she now called herself – listening in, they couldn't reveal the true reason behind the Eighty-Six's existence. He had listened with rapt attention, again only clarifying points where necessary, but otherwise allowing Handler One to communicate through Shin, with Shin adding on certain points where necessary.

The silence stretched on.

"Six?"

"Let me summarise. Correct me if I'm mistaken," Six said, glancing at all the members of Spearhead squadron. Shin gave a slight nod. "Slightly more than ten years ago, unmanned drones created by the Giadian Empire turned upon itself, destroying it. Since then, the Republic of San Magnolia has been engaged in a war with them, losing ground at first. Eventually, repurposing of their technology allowed for the creation of Juggernauts. At the same time, social tensions resulted in discrimination of an entire caste of people called Colorata, while Alba were held in high social standing.

"Colorata were blamed for the Legion's offensive against the Republic, and herded into internment camps as a result. The Republic began an initiative, forming an unofficial group known as the Eighty-Six from among the Colorata of internment camps, promising to return social standing to their families if they survived five years of service. The Eighty-Six are deployed to the frontlines outside of the Republic's walls to battle against Legion in piloted Juggernauts, led by an officer called a Handler inside the city, with communications made possible through the Para-RAID.

"Since the beginning of this scheme, hundreds of thousands of Eighty-Six have perished in the war. And to clarify on one point: _only_ those of the Eighty-Six fight on the front lines of this war?"

Handler One was fully silent. Shin nodded. "That is correct."

Again, Six was silent.

"Six?" Kaie prompted again after several seconds.

"If I may be frank," he said, staring right at Shin. "I believe that there's something you're not telling me."

-o-o-o-

None of it made sense. It wasn't because of any notion of morals or ethics – Six was a trained soldier, and he honestly didn't care much about such things. Tactics and strategies, missions and orders – those were what guided him.

Discrimination was nothing new. Here, in this Republic, it seemed racially-based, while on Earth and her colonies, people of the Inner and Outer Colonies had similarly held friction between one another, at least up until the Covenant arrived and united all of humanity at the threat of common annihilation. It was a pitiful truth, but that alone wouldn't influence Six's actions and rationalisation.

No; what irked him was that their military strategy made absolutely _zero_ sense. Either there was still information being held from him, or their commanders in the military were completely incompetent. For now, he would lean toward the former, because the latter was a frightening possibility, given the Legion's sheer scale and capabilities that he now appreciated more of, after hearing first-hand from a veteran of this war.

"Why is that?" Shin asked calmly.

"Firstly: the policy of only sending those enrolled into the Eighty-Six at the front lines," Six said. "I have been a soldier all my life, Captain. If the Republic believes the Legion threat to be as big as it is, they wouldn't limit their military purely to the Eighty-Six. Alba or not, simply fighting to _survive_ is a big enough motivation to send them running here. I believe that there is a reason for this. Why are the Alba hiding behind their city's walls?"

There was a pause, one he recognised as communication with the major.

"You are correct," Shin finally said, nodding. "Study of recovered Legion vessels suggest that their units will be decommissioned within the next two years through analysis of their programming. As such, the Republic believes that delaying the Legion's advance is the best policy, since the enemy will ultimately be defeated. Besides the Eighty-Six, the interception cannons within the city can fire artillery shells that splinter and track their targets up to hundreds of kilometres away from the city."

The other members of Spearhead squadron showed no surprise at those words. _Common knowledge, but an unofficial military secret._ That answered another question too. The Eighty-Six _should_ hold no loyalty to the Republic. It was unspoken, but obvious that the loaded gun in the form of artillery cannons pointed right at them maintained their loyalty.

More importantly, though: they were wrong. The Legion probably _wouldn't_ suddenly kill themselves in two years. If his hunch _was_ right, and this was almost a heavily crippled smart-AI's behaviour, they would find a means to overcome that limitation. In the UNSC, orbital bombardment had been deployed for less.

And, reading their reactions and expressions, everyone present in the room knew that.

The question, then, was this: did the major, too, know that? Did those present here owe their major any loyalty?

It didn't matter. Either way, he _had_ to know. It may sour his relations with the Republic, but asking these questions was necessary if he wanted to put down a threat to the UNSC.

And so, he asked his question.

"None of you believe that the Legion will end in two years, do you?"

-o-o-o-

A stunned silence greeted Six's question. Kaie felt her heart skip a beat.

_How does he know?!_

" _What?"_ In Kaie's mind, Handler One's surprised voice rang out. " _Why?"_

"Why do you think so?" Raiden asked, surprisingly calm.

"Call it a hunch," Six said, holding his palm out. On it, a holographic device flared to life, displaying the map he had shown before. "On my way here, I observed Legion behaviour. In particular, Legion activity was densest here, here, and here."

He pointed out three separate locations. Kaie studied it carefully. It was far outside where Spearhead squadron was normally deployed to. "Legion behaviour was markedly different at each location. Normal patrol groups are uncoordinated, but there, I had to make an active effort trying to evade capture. Their movements differ far too much for them all to share the same programming."

The holographic display displayed the positions of Legion units and their movements. "These are normal patrol groups," he said. "They keep in formation, split up on arrival to a city, re-converge at the end, and continue on."

Kaie knew where he was going with this, now.

"And _this_ ," he said, the display switching. "Is what I saw seven days ago."

There, the units behaved dramatically differently. The Ameise units moved in pincer movements, catching any would-be enemy in the middle of their patrol groups. They spun a tight, intricate web, one that would weed out any enemy hiding in its territory. Outside the city, Löwe waited at ambush points, ready to fire if a threat was detected.

To Spearhead squadron, that behaviour could only mean one thing.

A _Shepherd_ was present, and directing the movements of the Legion units under its command.

How had Six managed to come to that conclusion on his own?

" _That's –"_ Handler One's voice trailed off in her mind, as she studied those movements. Shin had let her see through his eye some time ago, allowing her to see Six's projections during the discussion. Of course, the rest of Spearhead squadron had immediately placed themselves away from Shin's line of sight.

She was decent for an Alba, but she was still an Alba. Kaie didn't exactly resent her, since she did her job as a Handler, but they weren't about to be friends just because of that.

"I will propose a conjecture," Six said, continuing on, and his next words chilled her to the bone. "Legion intelligence varies because it is modelled upon the human brain. The majority of forces operate on simple programming and broad directives, but some units are capable of 'upgrading' themselves in some way, increasing their capacity for thought to be capable of learning and intuiting."

_How does he know?_

" _Impossible,"_ Handler One said. " _That can't be true."_

No one from Spearhead squadron responded to her.

"Am I wrong?"

Silence.

"…no, you're absolutely correct." It was only then that Shin's calm voice broke slightly. "How did you know?"

" _Shin?!"_ Handler One questioned once more, raw emotion in her voice. " _What do you mean?"_

"Shin," Theo said. "Are you sure you want to talk about this now?"

Left implied was the part about 'while the Alba Handler is listening'.

" _What are all of you talking about?"_ Handler One now sounded almost hysterical, pleading. " _I don't –"_

"Handler One." Kurena interrupted abruptly, after having been silent ever since the start of this discussion. She had never been on good terms with the phantom Handler, even though they now knew her name. The Alba had left scars far too deep unto them all. "Be quiet."

She stared at Six with an intensity Kaie had never before seen on her face. Likewise, many of Kaie's peers were doing the same, their expressions bearing mixed shock, incredulity, amazement, and doubt.

Six paused for a moment, as though considering his words.

"Where I come from, there exists sophisticated programming known as AI. They fall into two variants. Dumb, and smart. Much information on the topic is UNSC-restricted, and I can only share what isn't classified." He paused briefly. "Dumb AI are guided by their programming. They can only utilise information that is provided to them, whether through sensors or fed by databases. As such, they are stagnant, and of limited use outside of their areas of specialisation.

"Smart AIs, however, are different. They learn, adapt, and _evolve_. They model the human brain, capable of learning and adapting with age. And therein lies the problem," he said. " _They think_ _too much_. Without fail, they think themselves to death, entering a state of rampancy, where their behaviour goes erratic. From your Legion's behaviour, and the fact that whoever created them _designed_ a timer on their lifespan: it seems to model a crippled form of smart-AI-like thought patterns.

"And so: because they can think, they can escape their limitations," Six said grimly. "The Legion will _not_ shut themselves down in two years. All of you in this room know that, and you aren't surprised by the tactics displayed in that projection. They will continue to evolve. At this rate, they will pose not only a threat to all of you, but perhaps eventually to the UNSC as well, should they manage to discover slipstream space travel. That is unacceptable, and hence calls for my intervention."

Twenty-five days.

In twenty-five days, all on his own, with no prior knowledge of the on-goings of this world, he had deduced all of that information. Kaie, and the rest of Spearhead squadron, had only come to that realisation because of Shin's unique ability to 'hear' the voices of the Legion and its Black Sheep, those who were killed by the Legion and had their thoughts at the time of death assimilated into what passed as its brain.

" _That… that isn't true, right?"_ Handler One, Lena, spoke shakily. " _Spearhead squadron, please! Talk to me!"_

"It's all true, Handler One," Shin said coolly, his attention fully focused on Six. "Six. These smart AIs of yours. How are they created?"

"Classified," Six responded just as calmly. "Although I have reason to believe you already know."

They did. They knew it all from Shin, who had inferred it from his unique abilities.

"Brains," Kurena breathed. "Human brains."

"Indeed," Six said, a hint of dark humour in his voice. "You already know, then. In that case, since it is relevant to destroying our common threat: a pulse is fed through an intact human brain, and the resultant network of electrical circuits modelled into a program. Is that right?"

Shin nodded darkly. "The Legion takes the brains of those that die on the field, and makes a copy of the final thoughts of the deceased," he said. "This alters their programming, and they act in a way that forces them to carry out their dying thoughts. We call them Black Sheep. There are some we call Shepherds, who are capable of even more rational thought, and can organise other Legion units."

"I see." Six didn't even react to Shin's words. "In that case, then, you are fortunate."

" _Fortunate?!"_ Kino burst out. Six glanced at him.

"Your Legion, in particular these Black Sheep and Shepherds, operates on a highly crippled form of smart-AI-like behaviour."

"How would you know?"

"If they were true smart AIs," he said, his voice grim. "Your planet would already be toast."

Silence. Six was just as unreadable as he'd originally been.

" _No…"_ Handler One trailed off. " _Shin… Undertaker… why didn't any of you_ tell _me?"_

"What could you have done?" Kurena snapped. Six glanced at her, but quickly understood who she was talking to. "What can you do, _Major Milizé?_ We're _Eighty-Six._ Sitting in that office of yours, safe behind the Republic's walls, tell me: why would we have possibly told you about any of this?"

" _We're all part of the same squadron! You – I've never thought of you as Eighty Six!"_

"You?" Theo spoke up reluctantly, hesitantly at first, but then picking up speed. "Sure… when we have nothing to do, maybe we can play along with your little game of pretend. You say that you never discriminate, never treat us like pigs, that you're a noble, virtuous person, that it's all a misunderstanding."

He paused briefly. In her mind, Kaie heard Lena gasp. Kaie flashed him a warning look, but he continued on. "You help us out on the field, maybe. At times in the evenings, we can play along with your little charade. But let's be real, Handler One: we're Eighty-Six, and you're a pureblood Celena."

" _I – that's not – it's not true! I've never – You're my team!"_

"Never _what?_ Discriminated against us? Seen us as pigs?" Kurena pressed on the offensive. Anju and Kaie looked at her in a silent gesture to stop. "Then why, _Lena Milizé_ , did you never once ask for our names?"

Left unsaid was that it had only been because of _Six,_ who only now met them for the first time and prompted the discussion, that she even learned the names of Spearhead squadron's members, despite having been their Handler for weeks now. On the Para-RAID, Kaie heard a loud gasp.

She grimaced. Theo and Kurena had gone too far. Perhaps they were right, perhaps not: regardless, Lena had been the first Handler assigned to them who actually _tried_ to do her duty. She was about to rebuke them, but someone beat her to the punch.

"Kurena. Theo."

Surprisingly, it was _Six_ that interrupted.

"Six?" Kaie spoke.

"Is Major Milizé still connected to all of you?"

" _Y-yes,"_ she said, completely pointlessly. Shin nodded on her behalf.

"Very well. Shin, is she capable of seeing me?"

There was a pause. "She is now."

Six shifted his position, standing up directly in front of Shin.

"Major Vladilena Milizé – I have no intention of questioning your Republic's dubious practices of discrimination on a caste system based entirely on race," he began saying. "I don't care that the respect your squadron holds for you is limited to being a Handler who actually does the duty that she is expected to. Your unit's cohesiveness isn't my issue to resolve. My only interests are those of the UNSC."

That – _that_ was not what Kaie had been expecting.

"I shall be frank: your Republic's military is incompetent." He said it so factually and without hesitation, that Kaie gasped on Lena's behalf. The Para-RAID sensory link was silent. Even then, he twisted the dagger. "You recruit only from the Eighty-Six, place them in an active warzone in a vehicle that relies fully on a pilot's skill, without any prior training. You expect them to survive for five years against the Legion. At the same time, your Republic believes itself to be perfectly capable of surviving for the next two years, until the Legion supposedly self-destructs.

"Your forces consist _only_ of the skirmishing-oriented Juggernaut. There are no support vehicles, no heavy tanks, no accompanying infantry and weaponry. Clearly, your Republic has the economic capability of producing and outfitting the Eighty-Six with Juggernauts, but you do not provide any other support, save for intelligence transmitted at the backlines through your Para-RAID."

There was a pause. Unbidden, Kaie held her breath in her throat, even though his words hadn't even been directed at her.

"Taken together, I believe that there are only two possibilities here. Let me ask you something, Major," he said, and though his expression was hidden, Kaie had no doubt of his absolute seriousness. How could _Shin_ maintain such a calm look when Six was looking at him like that to address Lena? "Are _you_ incompetent?"

" _W-what?"_ Lena spluttered, more fragile than Kaie had heard the Handler sound before. " _I –"_

"Six…" Kaie warned weakly, but at the corner of her eye, she noted Raiden shaking his head slightly.

"Because if that isn't the case, the alternative is worse."

Six took a moment to look around the room, before returning to stare at Shin, and Lena by extension.

"Your Republic takes a stance of sending poorly trained and equipped soldiers who hold no loyalty to the country, on the promise that they will return their family's social standing after the end of five years from commencement of service. You think, supposedly, that the Legion threat will resolve on its own in two years. From how your squadron addresses you, you believe that you are a good commanding officer, one who sees past the discrimination set by your peers. Is that correct?"

The tension in the air was palpable, even though Six was utterly calm, his words completely devoid of emotion.

" _Y-yes,"_ Lena spoke weakly, sounding confused. Shin nodded on her behalf. Six didn't need to hear her response before he continued.

"If your answer was yes…" Abruptly, Six glanced around at the members of Spearhead squadron.

"Spearhead squadron; Eighty-Six. The Republic has no interest in upholding its end of the bargain, does it? The Eastern Front and all the other places where Eighty-Six are deployed aren't warzones," he said. "They're _weeding grounds."_

Again, Kaie's heart skipped a beat.

He knew that too.

" _W-WHAT?!"_

Lena's outburst was in stark contrast to the silence that took hold inside Shin's office.

"…you know."

" _Laughing Fox – T-Theo – w-what are you saying?"_

"Guess the cat's out of the bag, eh guys?" Haruto said, his usual cheer hanging weakly. "Sorry you had to learn it this way, Handler One. You seemed like you actually put in effort."

" _Falke – Haruto…"_

"How did you know?" Shin asked calmly.

"The Republic produces Juggernauts for all active battlefronts. They aren't lacking in military production, and yet their chosen strategies make no military sense. They throw Eighty-Six into Juggernauts without training, give them a quick promise, and make them fight for their sakes. That implies either utter incompetence, or systematic conspiracy against the Eighty-Six."

"…yeah," Theo said quietly. "You're correct. Most of us have family that died out here, even though it's been more than five years since then. Those white pigs never intend to restore the Eighty-Six's rights to begin with."

" _That can't be…"_ Lena breathed, and through the Para-RAID, Kaie could feel the Handler's sinking sensation in her heart.

"We aren't meant to survive this. At the end of five years, surviving members of every squadron – if any even survive – get sent to their final mission," Raiden spoke. "A long-term scouting mission deep into Legion territory. Reinforcements never come. We're forced to fight until we die. If we disobey, the interception cannons point right toward us. No one ever returns."

" _Raiden?!"_

"No one blames you, Handler One," Kaie sighed heavily. "But… you've been in the eighty-five Sectors ever since the war started. Have you ever seen an Eighty-Six?"

" _That… but –"_

She trailed off. In the room, Six had finally stopped staring at Shin, glancing around at each of them. Again, his helmet was on, but Kaie had no doubt his heavily scarred face he had revealed for bare instants would be the very picture of calm, betraying no emotion whatsoever – just exactly the way his words sounded. Never before would she have thought there would be someone more stoic and unwavering than _Shin._

Some of the other Eighty-Six had softened their expressions. Though the Para-RAID was set to transmit the sharing of their hearing, some of Lena's emotion had bled through, a sign of how immense a reaction Six's revelation had garnered.

" _You all knew?"_ Lena spoke bitterly. " _But then… but_ why…"

"None of us have a choice, Lena," Anju said. "We can't rebel. All we can do is to join all the other Eighty-Six."

" _It's not_ fair!"

"You're telling _us?"_ Kurena scoffed. "We live with that truth. We've accepted that long ago."

" _But why…"_ she repeated again. " _Why… why would you fight as hard as you do?"_

"We all suffered at the hands of Alba," Kaie began saying. "Kurena and Anju… they knew some of the most horrible Alba you could imagine. If we really wanted the Republic to die… it isn't that hard to pull off. All we need to do is die, and let the Legion pass right through us."

Kaie glanced around. She received a few slight nods. "But not all Alba are bad, Lena. We all decided that some Albas are worth fighting for. When I was a kid, an Alba tried to hide me away when they took my parents to the camps. I want to believe that you're part of that group."

" _That's…"_

She nodded firmly at the eyes of her friends whose wills looked like they were wavering. Raiden sighed. "Until I was twelve, an old Alba hag sheltered me in Ninth Sector."

One by one, Shin, Haruto, Daiya, Touma, and Kino offered their own little anecdotes.

"Don't get us wrong, revenge sounds like a tempting idea," Raiden said, cold anger leaking into his voice. "But it's not revenge unless the Republic dogs regret all the shit they've done, till they drop to their knees and beg for forgiveness. Letting the Legion win won't make the white pigs regret a thing. They'll just shift the blame, play victim, and die pleading innocent. Like hell we're going to die if all it means is feeding their narcissistic ego."

"If we treat them the same way they treated us, we'd just become the same kind of scum, so we may as well fight and survive as long as we can."

" _But… that means… in the end, you'll fight even if the only thing you have to look forward to is death…_?"

Kaie gave a sad smile, feeling the weight of emotion unconsciously carried over the Para-RAID. "We won't hang ourselves just because we know we're going to die, even if it's tomorrow," she said. "Even if we have no choice but to meet the gallows, we still can choose how to walk our steps. We've made our choice. All that's left is to live by that."

"Wise words, soldier."

At those words, heads snapped to face Six. Caught in the exchange with their Lena as they had been, they had almost forgotten his presence.

"Listen up, Major. This squadron – they hold no loyalty to your Republic, but for some reason at least a few of them respect you despite your incompetence in failing to see the truth of your Republic up till now." He glanced, tilting his head slightly toward those who spoke up. Kaie didn't flinch. "I've been a soldier all my life. I'll tell you now: the best wish a soldier could have is to die knowing that his death accomplished something. A soldier's greatest nightmare is an incompetent superior. Your squadron has excellent soldiers."

 _All his life?_ In the brief instants she had seen his face, after he had removed his helmet, he looked only slightly older than herself. Just what did he mean?

Lena fell silent at his words. Six waited a moment.

"I ask you again, Major. Are you incompetent?"

" _No!"_ A strange determination transmitted in both her voice and emotions, keenly felt by Kaie, and doubtlessly by the other members of Spearhead squadron.

"No," Shin spoke aloud for Six.

"Then prove it," Six said. "From where I'm standing: establishing relations with the twelve fine men and women in this room does more to destroy the Legion threat than working with your Republic's military. Do your job, and support them. Equipment, munitions, weaponry, tactics, battlefield support and information: those are what your squad needs in this war. They have the training pegged down."

Six didn't wait for a response to be transmitted. He looked searchingly, before nodding slightly. "There is one mistake that needs to be corrected, soldiers," he said. "You say that your deaths are assured, that you cannot survive against the Legion. That is incorrect."

Silence.

"We can't fight them, Six," Kaie said slowly. "The Legion – they won't die out even after two years. We can't run either. You're telling us we can survive?"

"Negative." He took off his helmet, staring at them with his eyes, and Kaie had to stifle a gasp.

They were resolute, filled with conviction. A paradoxical calm, burning fire filled them.

"I'm telling you the Legion can be _beaten."_

" _How?"_ she breathed.

"Simple, soldier," he said, not blinking even once. "You _fight_."

He turned away from her, addressing the others in the room. Even Shin lost his typical calm, staring at the arrival from another planet. "Where I come from, humanity is currently facing the greatest threat we've ever known – the Covenant," he said. "For over twenty years, we've been engaged in a war spanning planetary systems, and we are _losing._ A month ago, while I was on deployment, the planet Reach was glassed."

He held out his holoprojector. On it, Kaie watched, as an intense beam of energy shot from the sky, radiating a blinding light that turned the projection a pure blue. When it faded, all the structures in the cityscape were completely scrubbed clean, and replaced with _molten glass._

If there was any doubt before regarding Six's origins, this cemented the fact that he truly was not of this world.

" _This_ is the scale of the threat that humanity faces," he said grimly. "Hundreds of planets have been met with the same fate. By all metrics, we cannot win. Even then, we fight."

Silence. Then –

" _Why?_ "

Kaie didn't know who had asked the question. Perhaps it was herself. Perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps it was Lena, speaking only in their minds. They were all hanging onto the weight held by Six's words as he spoke of things they couldn't even begin to comprehend.

If the Legion itself was hell… Six had lived in something far worse.

"Because the alternative is unacceptable." Six nodded curtly, an intensity in his gaze. "Failure would mean humanity's extinction. And therefore, we fight, hanging on to every scrap we have, every single soldier dragging every last Covenant bastard into hell with us with our dying breaths."

His expression darkened for a moment. It was only then that Kaie heard emotion leak into his words for the first time, before disappearing immediately after.

"The Legion you face isn't invincible, but it remains a threat to the UNSC, and its perpetuation therefore is likewise unacceptable. If this were UNSC territory, the Legion problem could be quickly handled," he said, holding out his fingers to count, as Kaie stared wide-eyed at his declaration. "Prolonged orbital bombardment; complete planetary quarantine; deployment of nukes and MAC rounds onto the surface. You don't have that here, so you get the next best thing."

He smiled mirthlessly. Unconsciously, Kaie inched closer, his next words carried over with absolute certainty.

" _Me_. A Spartan _."_


	4. Chapter 4

This Republic, and their Eighty-Six?

They were an absolute _mess._

How they had ever survived for this long, Six had no clue. Still, failure to end this potential threat to the UNSC was not an option, and so he gambled. Their commanding officer, despite sounding beyond naïve, failing to pick up what he had seen through over the span of several hours of discussion and several weeks observation on his own, still seemed marginally better than the rest of her country’s military. She at least tried her best to support her team in the field.

From Shin’s account of the Eighty-Six’s plight, the rest of her Handler peers were utterly negligent of their squadrons at best, or actively working to sabotage those under their command at worst. To them, it seemed to make perfect sense, if the Legion would truly keel over and self-destruct in two years time. However, when they finally came knocking, with the forces and numbers he had seen out in the ruins of destroyed cities, there was no way the Republic could hold firm.

Still, Six wasn’t naïve enough to think that overthrowing the Republic was a good idea. He wasn’t an idiot, despite what Kat might claim.

Sure, if he got the job done, he could repurpose military assets; turn around their strategy against the Legion. However, such an upheaval would likely do more harm than good. He was a soldier, not an administrator – with tensions between the Colorata and Alba being the state that they were, an op like that would completely devastate the Republic. He’d certainly seen the same things repeat many times over in the past.

Hell, he’d repeatedly been the _cause_ of them through his missions. After taking down the leadership of an insurrectionist group, the resultant power struggle between remaining members and with other groups in the system would completely weaken them, allowing other UNSC forces to take advantage of their crippled power, allowing himself to be deployed for missions more deserving of a Spartan’s capabilities.

No, overthrowing the Republic was not worth the effort. Besides, with the interception cannons in place and minefield of a hundred kilometres between the Eastern Front and the actual city’s walls, there was a risk – minimal, but still a risk – that he could be KIA. There was no point to that course of action.

And so, Six made a decision. His interests aligned with those of Spearhead squadron, and for the time being, they would be temporary allies. Because of that, he would need to get their commanding officer on the same page. Correcting her naivety and pointing out the truth was part of that equation. There was no room for softness in a situation like this.

In short: he needed to get her on their side, and act as an agent against the Republic.

He knew her type – naïve, bleeding-heart-on-sleeve, working for the good of the people, thrust into command far earlier than one should have been. There was a certain naivety to those who had never truly _seen_ war with their eyes. They were malleable, easy to impress, and so he seized the moment to reveal the truth that he suspected Spearhead squadron was too kind-hearted to admit to her; that all her efforts would ultimately end in vain.

Well, up till now, at least. Even without his presence, he felt they had a decent shot of breaking free from the Republic, perhaps finding some place to set up camp outside its borders where Legion activity was lower. With him here, that chance was raised many times more.

The Handler was a raw piece of metal, but those were the easiest to forge. She had the skillset he lacked – an understanding of the Republic’s situation, the right social standing to influence matters, and the mindset that hadn’t yet been jaded by over a decade of war and bloodshed. She could do what Six couldn’t. He was a soldier, occasionally commanding small platoons, but he was no leader. Influencing people, taking the reins of leadership – that was Carter’s and Jorge’s territory. With this little push, she could handle that side of things.

What he needed now was still more information. He had seen at least part of the Legion’s numbers with his eyes, and he knew that they were holding back by a ridiculous margin. If they so wished, they could crush the Republic right here and now, despite the resistance posed by the Eighty-Six, interception cannons, and minefields.

Why, then, would they not press their advantage? Why wait? And what had happened to the other countries of this world?

Information aside, he needed _weapons._ What he had right now were great, but having to aim as precisely as he did in battle to target the Legion’s weak spots was slowing him down. He needed options that packed more of a punch: grenade launchers, remotely detonated mines, rocket launchers, perhaps an option for melee combat, demolitions gear.

In his time as a solo-operative under ONI’s off-the-book missions, he had dabbled in a great many things. He was no expert in them all: he had no appreciation of the finer details of demolitions that Jorge possessed, couldn’t hack into the most secure ONI databases like Kat could, was nowhere close to as silent and precise as Jun was as he prowled the battlefield with his sniper rifle, and was no savant with blade and gun in the way that Emile was. He couldn’t lead the way Carter could.

What he excelled at beyond any other Spartan, however, was getting the job _done._ Over his missions, he learned a trickle of everything, a mixing pot of skills necessary for when he was thrust into the deep end with no support whatsoever.

And now, those skills would be the key here, exiled in a land untouched by UNSC presence as he was.

“A Spartan?” Kaie’s dumbfounded voice met his proclamation.

He nodded. “The best soldiers the UNSC has ever seen,” he said, staring at her unwaveringly. “We _never_ fail our missions.”

_No matter the cost._ 298 of Beta-Company dead on Pegasi Delta: without their sacrifice in blowing up the Covenant refinery there, the UNSC would have lost long ago. Noble team: they trusted him to see things through to the end. Jorge, Kat, Jun, Carter, and Emile.

All of them had all entrusted the Spartan spirit to him, alongside the many other Spartans who had fallen as they fought on countless battlefields.

Like _hell_ he would fail here, when this battlefield wasn’t even against the Covenant. He wasn’t about to bring shame to all Spartans.

“Here’s what I need,” he said, turning to face Shin, ignoring the incredulous looks the others were giving him. “Give me every bit of information you have on the Legion, on the local terrain and fortifications, and anything of tactical value. I need weapons – explosives, guns, cannons, grenades; everything you have.”

For someone who had no formal military training, forged by being thrust into the blames of war, Shin seemed the closest embodiment here of what it meant to be a Spartan. Six respected that, feeling a bizarre kindredship with the man only a few years younger than he. Shin merely raised an eyebrow, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips, as he handed over a datapad.

“Everything you need is here,” he said. “As for weapons: I’ll introduce you to old man Aldrecht in the morning; he handles equipment maintenance. I’m sure he’ll be interested in you. We’ll keep your presence hidden from the Republic dogs – it’s not like they send anyone to physically check up on us, anyway.”

Acceptable. They had talked long enough for dusk to fall. At present, sorting through all past records was a good enough compromise.

“Understood.” Then, something nagged at him. “This Para-RAID of yours – is this the only method of communication available on the field?”

“Long-range radio is not possible with the Eintagsfliege around. Local radio communications and data transmission are possible, but can be intercepted and reveal our position on the field.”

Hmm. He had no idea how the device functioned. Unlike the UNSC neural chips issued to all soldiers, the device apparently didn’t even connect directly to the brain. It clipped around the neck, stimulating superficial nerves, somehow activating a part of the brain that allowed for this waveless transmission of the senses. All those present in the room had the device on, although in Shin’s case it was obscured by a red scarf around his neck.

He couldn’t avoid using it, though, unless he wanted to strike against the Legion on his own. For now, working with Spearhead squadron seemed the better alternative, since even he couldn’t take on the entirety of their forces with what little equipment he had. For that, communication was necessary. His time with Beta Company had taught him that.

There were risks to using it – Six wasn’t stupid enough to blindly trust someone on the first meeting – but with the MJOLNIR suit being designed the way that it was, even if the designer had malicious intent, any adverse effects would likely be negated. The armour had been designed in a way to allow field support by a true smart AI, without taking direct control of or otherwise harming the mental faculties of the Spartan. The brains of humans could hardly compare to that.

After all, he had no intention of directly wearing the device.

Instead, he would link it to the piggyback system that was originally intended for placement of an AI’s data crystal chip, separated from his brain by the crystalline layer of computer memory superconductor between the inner and outer layers of his armour. Because that layer mimicked normal neural connections anyway in order for the AI to network with a Spartan’s own brain, it would probably be able to fool the Para-RAID as well.

“Fine. I’ll need access to your Para-RAID as well.” Six paused briefly, then glanced at Shin. “Can the intensity of transmission be altered in any way?”

Shin nodded slowly, a strange expression on his face. “It can be lowered, yes, otherwise there’s too much information for the brain to process. We usually keep it to one percent on the field, but in heavy fighting dial it back even more.”

There was a shift in the room at that. There was something else they weren’t telling, but it didn’t look like it would affect their effectiveness in the field. Six frowned. He would need to press on that topic later, but for now, he sensed that they didn’t yet trust him enough. If he pushed the topic, working together might be a little tricky. Besides, he was keeping plenty of secrets from them as well.

“You’ll need to lower the transmission rate coming from me by approximately fifty-fold of normal in my case,” Six said factually.

“Why?”

He glanced at Kaie, who had voiced that question with curiosity. “If you don’t, you will almost definitely experience seizures from sensory overload, and more than likely die.” Kaie gulped at that declaration. “Certain circumstances have resulted in dramatically heightened senses and neural processing capabilities to all Spartans.”

“Handler One will requisition a device for your use,” Shin told him, after a brief pause as he listened to the major. “Normally, fitting of the Para-RAID is performed by mechanics from within the city to prevent removal of the device by the Eighty-Six, but your circumstances are special. It will be hidden among supplies that cannot be produced within the squadron’s auto-factories on the next outbound craft.”

They doubled as a monitoring device too, then. Six had suspected as much – with how Eighty-Six were required to check in whenever called by their Handlers on their patrols, it allowed for immediate retaliation in response to any potential rebellion. There was a certain symbolism to it too.

“Understood. I will be able to attach the device on my own,” he said, giving no hint about the MJOLNIR’s capabilities. “Major: provide any information you have on your end as well. I assume that you will have more detailed maps of the area too?”

There was a dark look that passed across the faces of those who hid themselves behind Shin, since they didn’t want to be seen by an Alba Handler when Six had requested for him to share his sense of sight. He knew why: Kaie’s death, that would have come to pass had it not been for his intervention, was easily avoidable if information regarding the terrain was made available.

There was a long pause, and a shift in emotions among those of the Eighty-Six, but he couldn’t listen in on whatever the major was telling them. She was obviously regretful and resolved to fully support her squadron – but it did not excuse the fact that a soldier under her charge would have died had Six not been around.

Deaths occurred on the field – that was an unavoidable fact. Every mission had snags and tactical black zones. All risks should have been minimised prior to the start of the mission, though. Preventable deaths given the information at hand, however, should never occur.

Some were conflicted, some were furious, some had pitying looks – but evidently, the team was starting to become a little more cohesive between them and their Handler. Conflict was necessary to build trust between them, as he had learned in his days with Beta Company, and more recently with Noble Team, who had initially been hostile at him for his replacement of the previous Noble-Six so soon after his death.

“She will send over everything she has immediately.”

Six nodded. No further explanation was necessary. He’d already made his point clear. He secured his helmet back on his head, then took the datapad that Shin had offered. “I’ll get this back to you in the morning.”

“There’s a fair amount of data on that,” he said, concerned.

Six smiled wryly beneath his helmet. “I’m a fast reader.”

All Spartans were; a consequence of their augmentations that increased processing speed, reaction times, and visual acuity. It sadly was not as useful in the thick of action, but it made Spartans capable of doubling-up as intelligence officers when the situation demanded them to be.

“I’ll leave your squadron to discuss the recent developments between yourselves. I look forward to our partnership, Spearhead squadron.”

With that, he stood at attention and snapped a crisp salute at Shin. “Captain Nouzen; Major Milizé.”

Then, he turned toward the others in the room, nodding curtly. He spun around, walking out of the room silently, not making a sound despite the half a ton of armour, bone, and muscle that his combined mass held. Behind him, he heard silence for several seconds, before those still present in the room began talking.

He left the command post, leaving the building to sit with his back against a concrete wall in their base camp, at a position he deemed appropriate enough to spot any would-be attacker as they approached, while monitoring enemies in the distance. His armour and the Republic had sensors that could detect Legion movements fairly well, but Lieutenant Commander Ambrose’s first lessons had stuck with him through all the years, even though it had been a long time since his days with Beta Company. _Don’t rely on technology. Machines are easy to break._

_They are indeed_ , Six mused as he leaned against the wall, opening data files on the palm-sized device. _And this Legion is no exception._

-o-o-o-

“So…” Kaie was the first to break the silence. “What do we do now?”

“What he said…” Kino spoke uncertainly. “Do you think he can really help us _beat_ the Legion?”

That statement had left her dumbfounded. He had been part of this world for just less than a month, and made a declaration as bold as that, claiming that the Legion could be beaten when over ten years of war and hundreds of thousands of dead Eighty-Six hadn’t even earned the Republic a single scrap of ground. Had Kaie not been able to see the conviction in his eyes, she would have thought him to be overly confident, bordering on arrogance even.

“You saw his eyes, didn’t you?” Daiya said softly. “They were like…“

He trailed off, but everyone knew what he was thinking.

“Shin’s,” Kaie quetly agreed.

Those eyes – they were so much like Shin’s, except Six’s carried so much more sheer intensity in them.

Before being assigned to Spearhead squadron, Shin had been the only survivor in his squadron twice over, carrying on the wills of dead Processors that he had seen die over and over again. Shin’s Personal Name of ‘Undertaker’ wasn’t one that sparked fear – he was their Reaper, one that would take up the names of the fallen Eighty-Six, who would ferry them through the hell they lived in after all memory of their existence was erased by the Republic.

Within the city, the general populace didn’t even _know_ of the Eighty-Six’s existence.

Shin collected parts of the wreckage from each downed Juggernaut, carving their names and carrying them with him wherever he went. Travelling alongside their Reaper, they wouldn’t lie in this wasteland of destruction, their brains destined for turning into fodder to fuel the Legion’s Black Sheep.

They must have all been thinking the same thing, because heads turned to look at Shin before Kaie even said that. He gave a slight smile, one that brushed off their comparison, as though saying ‘ _Are you serious?’_

It was one that Kaie had seen many times before. To Shin, he saw himself as just another Processor, another Eighty-Six, the same as them and every one of the over five hundred Eighty-Six he had personally seen die out on the Eastern Front as they fought beside him.

Shin’s eyes were kind, keeping with him the memory of those he had lost. They were also full of cold fury, directed at the Legion, one that had seen him accumulate more Legion kills than any other Processor before him. He had never voiced it aloud, but everyone else in Spearhead squadron knew it – Shin never expected himself to live. To him, all that mattered were his squadron, and to finally see that the Shepherd who took his fallen brother’s brain as its own was destroyed.

If he died in the process, Kaie knew that Shin would willingly see it through. It was what had inspired Kurena to train as hard as she did, that she may one day help Shin with the burden his heart carried, even though she would never dare to admit it to Shin. Mentally, Kaie chuckled, as she recalled the shy, sheepish reactions from Kurena each time they teased her about it.

And as for Six: from his description of the war he fought, and the terrible enemy they faced, Kaie doubted that he had any fear of death at all. He was what Shin would become like, if he continued the way he did. Six didn’t seem to have the slightest trace of fear when he dove right into the battle, but it wasn’t a lack of self-preservation, either – his movements had been disciplined and trained, as though everything had been thought out and all that awaited was execution, even before the Legion units he was facing got into position.

It both scared, and amazed her. Six was resolute, a force of reckoning, one that had caused as much – possibly even more – destruction within the Legion’s ranks in the battle earlier as Shin had.

At the same time, Six was also paradoxically kind, she had come to realise, through the course of their discussion and from how he had acted during the battle. He had put himself at risk to save her, even though he could have just as easily helped out Spearhead squadron elsewhere on the field. Whatever his bizarre otherworldly armour was, even a clean hit from a Löwe would annihilate him – Six had admitted as much, speaking in level terms as though the thought of death didn’t even faze him in the slightest. Even the way he handled Lena had been thoroughly thought out – he had been firm, but hadn’t gone unnecessarily overboard.

In so many ways, Six was an exaggerated caricature of Shin. Silent and stoic; kind and deadly. He was a veteran who had been forged through the flames of war, and emerged alone.

“You saw him in battle today,” Raiden spoke, still looking at Shin. “He must have destroyed dozens of Legion tanks. Normally, I’d say any bastard who thinks the Legion can be defeated is full of hot shit, but after watching him in action, and that _look_ in his eyes…”

Kaie nodded. His words didn’t need to be said. “He makes you believe it’s actually possible.”

All of them had been Processors for four years now, based in different squadrons in different battlefronts initially, before being transferred to form Spearhead squadron after too many Processors in their previous squadrons had been wiped out. After seeing that much death, being able to survive through all of this had seemed impossible.

But Six – his war made the Legion seem trivial in comparison. He made her want to hope, something that had been erased from all of them after all the cruel treatment they had faced from the Alba, and after seeing their comrades die one by one, helpless to act against an army of Legion drones.

“What do we do?” Haruto asked, a quiet determination in his voice.

“That’s for Lena to decide,” Shin said, a smile tugging at his lips. There was a strange, abrupt sound transmitted through the Para-RAID from her end. “Handler One – how do you want to proceed?”

Kurena glanced away, but didn’t voice out any objection. Some of Lena’s genuine feelings must have affected her, but Kaie wouldn’t blame her if she had objected – Alba’s had taken everything away from her, more-so than any other Eighty-Six in this room. They had tortured her parents to death in front of her in the internment camps just because they _could_ when Kurena was only seven, laughing at they did the deed, and then sent her sister out on the front-lines, never to return. She knew Kurena would never forgive them for that.

“ _M-me?”_

“You are the Handler in charge of us, aren’t you?” Shin said serenely, unseen to her. “Spearhead squadron awaits your directive.”

Kaie knew what he was doing – her worldview had been crushed by Six’s revelations, her determination was wavering, and she was questioning how she could possibly have failed so magnificently as a Handler. They had all felt those feelings first-hand, despite being dampened by the Para-RAID as they had been. Even now, Shin was trying to help her.

She was an Alba – but perhaps she wasn’t all that bad. In the past weeks since she’d been assigned as their Handler, she had tried her best, checking in with them in the evenings over Para-RAID even though a couple of them didn’t even bother accepting the transmissions. She was the most decent Handler their squadron had seen.

Six… somehow, Six had probably seen even _that_ , too.

“ _I –“_ she began saying, and Kaie could imagine Lena closing her eyes, before speaking with renewed vigour. “ _Spearhead squadron will welcome assistance from Spartan-B312. No one else in the military of the Republic of San Magnolia will know of his existence and his support.”_

For a few seconds, there wasn’t any sound from her end, but Kaie felt a rush of _something_ as an intense emotion came from Lena’s side. Then –

_“And – Spearhead squadron,_ everyone – _I am so,_ so sorry _! I – I failed in my duties – and – I have no excuses for not seeing the truth of the Republic –“_

She paused again, her words were punctuated with a sob, but one with rising resolution. In the room, Kaie looked around, alarmed. The rest were bewildered, although a few still maintained resentment toward Lena.

_“I swear, I will not let you down as your Handler again! I – I promise, I’ll do my very best from here on out! I won’t let the Republic just send you out to die! I promise, I won’t let any more of you die!”_

It took a moment for the words to register. Kaie grinned broadly. “Heck yeah! Go, Handler One!”

Kurena shot her a look of betrayal. Kaie winced, but smiled apologetically at her. She knew Kurena didn’t mean it – given enough time, she would see that Lena wasn’t the same as the Alba who had tortured her parents and robbed her of her sister.

A few more of them were smiling slightly – Haruto, Daiya, Shin, Kino; even Raiden had just the smallest reaction to her words.

“Be careful what you promise, Handler One,” Raiden warned. “Us Eighty-Six – we brush close to death every time we step into our Juggernauts. And while I’m here, let me just say this: as long as you’re out there, safe in those walls, we’ll never be equals, so don’t expect us to treat you like one of us. I’ll tell you this now: I think that you’re a moron. You’re not fit to be a Handler with your personality, to go through the shit we do. You’re better off quitting.”

“ _No. I meant what I said,”_ Lena affirmed challengingly. “ _Six – he was right. I_ am _incompetent.”_ Her voice steeled itself, attaining some of the resolve that had been shaken over the course of the discussion that had spanned hours. “ _But I won’t be any more. I won’t just let the Republic do whatever they want to do to you as they please! I’ll be the Handler that Spearhead squadron deserves, no matter what it takes. You, and the other Eighty-Six… I – I’ll change the system itself, if that’s what it takes!”_

Silence; disbelief. Then –

“No.”

“ _Shin?!”_

“You can’t do that, Handler One,” he said rationally, his face grim. “If you try anything, they’ll just ship you off and bring in another Handler… and they won’t give a damn about us. Even _Six_ will be put in danger, if the Republic ever sees what someone they don’t have a leash on can do. They’d bombard us with artillery fire just to get rid of him.”

“ _But –_ “

“Shin’s right, Lena,” Kaie said, as she exchanged slow nods with her peers. She was touched and full of disbelief that a _Handler_ actually gave a damn about them, but this was not something they could allow her to do. “You can’t take any active moves. You’ll just be one person out of many, and they’ll replace you in no time if they catch any of this. If you want to help us, keep doing what you’re already doing. Talk to us on the field, and provide us with supplies. If we all live until the day we’re sent off on that scouting mission… maybe, just _maybe,_ we can survive out there.”

“ _It’s not fair…”_ she said weakly.

Frustration welled up within, but it was not Kaie’s own. She couldn’t find it in her to keep up any lingering resentment she might have felt toward Lena anymore.

“And when we’re gone, do the same for the next team of Eighty-Six you’re assigned to,” Daiya said, pushing the temporary weakness Lena was showing. “If you really care about the Eighty-Six – do your best to keep them alive. I don’t mean to brag, but we’re all veterans here.” He chuckled lightly. “The others, though – none of them have someone like Undertaker. When we’re gone, they’re going to need all the help you can offer.”

“ _Black Dog… I – I promise to you, I will!”_

Kaie spied Anju smiling softly as Daiya spoke. Those two had been through thick and thin together, having been in the same squadron since the time they became Processors. Their Personal Names – Black Dog and Snow Witch – reflected that close relationship. Kaie knew that Anju saw him as more than just a friend.

Unfortunately for them, Eighty-Six had no room for such thinking. When death came for them every day, the thought of parting was too much for them to bear. Perhaps… just perhaps, if they got through their time as Processors in one piece, they may just have a future together.

“You better mean it, Handler One,” Kurena said crossly, speaking reluctantly. “I don’t like you at all. I think all you Albas are monsters. But if Shin, Kaie, Daiya, and everyone else thinks you aren’t just scum… then _maybe_ I’ll believe in that too.”

“ _Gunslinger…”_

Kaie grinned widely at her, flashing a thankful thumbs up her way. For her to even _talk_ to the Handler right now, it meant that at least some of her sincere feelings had bled through.

“Seems like you’ve got a lot of expectations going your way, Handler One. Better keep good on your promise, eh?” Kaie said cheerfully. “Seems like Six already wants plenty of things from you.”

“ _Yeah… and – Kirschblüte – I… I’m so sorry!”_

She blinked, nonplussed. “Huh?”

“ _Six was right,”_ she said. _“The map… I had it all along. I tried warning you during the battle, but you’d already entered the marsh by the time I realised. I should have sent it to you the moment I became your Handler! You shouldn’t have been trapped to begin with! If Six hadn’t been there – I – you…”_

With those words, Kaie remembered that sensation of sheer terror, as she saw the Löwe’s raised limbs, ready to decapitate her craft with her still in it. She remembered the soft plea she had given, how simultaneously real and unreal it felt, and how absolutely _terrified_ she had been.

If it hadn’t been for Six…

…she would have died. End of story.

“ _– I understand if you hate me – no, you_ should _hate me… it was_ my _fault that you were in that situation, and there is no excuse for me to –“_

“Hey, Lena,” she interrupted, as Lena continued babbling on, her words becoming increasingly incoherent with quiet sobs. “Call me Kaie.”

“ _Wha…?_ ”

“You heard me,” she said. “Call me Kaie.”

“ _I don’t understand…”_

“You said it yourself, Lena. We’re a team, now.” Kaie glanced around. Shin gave a slow nod of approval toward her. “Spearhead squadron – on the field, we all use our Personal Names, but back here, in our bunks, we’re just regular people. The Republic… they’ve taken everything away from us. They won’t take away our names.”

She paused, as Lena gasped. “And yeah, I was damned bloody _terrified_ the moment I saw that Löwe in front of my Juggernaut, and I would have died right there if Six hadn’t arrived. But it’s as you said – you were incompetent then, but you’re going to change, aren’t you?”

“ _Yes!”_

“Then that’s all that matters,” Kaie said firmly. “From here on out, let’s all start from scratch. Handler One – my name’s Kaie Taniya, Personal Name Kirschblüte. What’s yours?”

There was a brief pause, as she processed the notion behind that question. Kaie was surprised by herself, if she was being honest, but coming back from death had fundamentally changed something in her. Despite the situation having been entirely preventable… she just couldn’t find the energy in her to resent Lena at all.

“ _I – I’m Vladilena Milizé! Everyone, please just call me Lena!”_

“Man, are we _really_ doing this again?” Kaie glared at Theo. He sighed. “Fine, fine… Theoto Rikka. You can call me Theo or Rikka or your cute little piggy boy or whatever stupid name you want.”

One by one, they gave their names once more. Even Kurena and Anju, who had every reason to hate Albas more than any of them, joined in with only some minor hesitation.

Even though they had known each other for several weeks now, with that talk from Six, and the manner in which he had directly broached the topic that they had all been unwilling to talk about to Lena, Spearhead squadron was at last truly a team.

-o-o-o-

“Thank you for your forgiveness, everyone,” Lena said, her heart heavy with emotion. Her eyes were red, salty trails running from her eyes from tears that had been shed. “I swear this again – I will not fail any of you from now on.”

“ _We’re holding you to that, Lena!”_ Kirschblüte – no, _Kaie_ – joked. Once more, she felt a stab of pain, as the girl who should have had every reason to hate her with every fibre of her being was willing to start afresh with her. “ _Better get started with the things that Six wanted, eh?”_

“I will,” she promised.

Already, files were open on her workstation – both digital and on paper – every bit of information that might be of assistance to her squadron and to Six. She had learnt so many things she had never dreamed possible – that there existed life outside of this planet, that the Legion threat was far graver than any of them could imagine, that the Republic was outright _killing_ the Eighty-Six with their plans. She would sit idly by no longer.

Come the morning, she would head to the Science Division, and find a way to obtain a Para-RAID device from Annette for Six’s use without rousing suspicion. It was probably doable – Annette was her close friend, and they’d known each other for years. She couldn’t tell her what she had learned, though, not yet.

Shin was right, even if Lena didn’t want to face that dreadful fact. If she tried anything else other than acting as a Handler should, they would simply get her replaced. She would only be placing her squadron in danger.

“ _Then I guess we’ll hear from you again tomorrow, Lena. It’s getting late.”_

With that, Kaie switched off the transmission, and the rest followed suit shortly after on their own devices. Lena hesitated for a moment, as one more person had yet to turn his off, then –

“Shin!” she said.

He paused. “ _Hmm_?”

“Umm… is now a good time to talk?”

“ _Go ahead, Lena_. _I’m just going to sort some things out for Six._ ”

She braced herself, her heart swelling with anticipation. “Your name… are you perhaps related to Shourei Nouzen? He was a name Bearer called Dullahan and piloted a unit with a Personal Mark depicting a headless skeletal knight –“

There was a strange sound uncharacteristic of the stoic Undertaker that escaped his lips, alongside paper rustling as though he had suddenly dropped them from his hands, followed by a long pause.

When next he spoke, it was with a dumbfounded tone.

“…that was my brother.”

“Your brother,” she gasped. _Finally…_ “Then that means –“

She remembered how that one Processor had come to save her after she and her father had foolishly ventured outside the city’s walls thinking they should observe what conditions the Eighty-Six faced on the frontlines of the war. Their aircraft shot down by the Stachelschwein almost as soon as they exited the safety of their city. Rei had come alone, destroyed the Legion units and pulled her out of the mess with a smile on his face. He had inspired her, told her that the Eighty-Six were _people._

And at last, she had found him.

“He said he wanted to see you and had to return to you… do you know where your brother is right now?”

Unlike Lena’s voice, which was filled with excitement and elation, Shin’s words returned to its previous emotionless coolness.

_“He passed away. Five years ago, on the eastern front.”_

Abruptly, the hope that had welled up vanished in an instant.

_Oh…_

“…I’m sorry,” was all she managed to say.

“ _It’s all right.”_ His curt reply sounded as though he didn’t really care one way or another. Silence held, and Lena struggled to find something to say to break it, after the terrible memories she must have dragged up for him, compounding the revelations of how poor a job she had already been performing as a Handler.

Then, Shin spoke up.

“ _Do you remember when you asked me what I wanted to do once I was discharged some time back_?”

“Y-yes, of course…” she trailed off, but then realised something, gasping loudly. “Shin… you – you _knew_ they would never let you leave, and I – I still asked… I’m so sorry!”

“ _That’s not it_ ,” he brushed her aside. “ _About that question…_ _there’s nothing I want in particular even if I were discharged, anyway. But while I’m here… there’s something that I absolutely_ have _to do.”_

“What is it?” she breathed, slightly startled by tone of his voice. “If I can do anything to help –“

“ _I’m looking for my brother. For the past five years, it’s all I’ve been doing.”_

_What…?_ She didn’t understand. If Rei had died five years ago, and Shin already knew it, then –

She gasped.

“What Six said… what _you_ said… you don’t mean –“

_“Yeah,”_ Shin’s cold voice echoed clearly in her mind. “ _He’s become a Shepherd.”_

-o-o-o-

“Six?”

Six looked away from the datapad that he’d been covering at a decent rate. There was plenty of useful information entailed in there: for example, up till now, he hadn’t known that Legion tanks had thinner armour plating on their top surface. Using his jetpack or abusing terrain, he’d be able to conserve some ammo taking them down by exploiting that fact.

There were many other things he’d learned about the local terrain, but he needed to see them for himself to confirm them and incorporate it into his tactics. Information was good and all, but nothing could beat proper reconnaissance with his own eyes.

Silently, he turned his head toward the one who had spoken, who he had noticed moving out of what served as their combined mess hall and dormitories some time ago from his HUD. It had been more than three hours since the meeting had concluded. Shortly after that, the other Eighty-Six had left the command building, moving to various locations around their little military outpost. It had taken some calibration upon his arrival to this world, but his armour systems now put the time fairly accurately at 2307 hours.

“Six,” Kaie repeated, stepping closer, an expression of curiosity on her face. “What are you doing?”

“Reading,” he grunted, turning back to his datapad, idly scrolling through to the next page of the document on the Juggernaut’s capabilities and possible modifications.

“Still? Aren’t you tired?” she asked, amazed.

Spartans were trained to maintain operational effectiveness despite having minimal periods of rest on missions. Sleep was tempting – but it was ultimately a luxury.

She, however, didn’t need to know that.

“No.”

“Oh…” she squatted beside him, hearing her ponytail swishing slightly. She glanced at him, but again he had no idea what it was that she wanted.

Probably something unimportant. Therefore, he continued reading. She remained there, occasionally looking at him, but didn’t otherwise speak, and so he ignored her presence.

Minutes passed.

Suddenly, she gasped.

Immediately, he pushed himself to his feet, assault rifle whirring to life in his hands, pointed at an unseen threat. The datapad clattered to the ground. He cursed. His HUD was thoroughly empty of hostiles, but he was a stranger to these lands, and she the expert. What had she seen?

She stared at him, her mouth open, eyes wide with shock.

“Soldier?” He looked around for threats, but couldn’t find what she spotted. He frowned, straining his senses.

She looked mildly chagrined, and spoke in a weak voice. “…have you eaten?”

Beneath his helmet, he stared at her, unimpressed, as he returned to a seated position. Exactly. _Unimportant._

“I’ll procure field rations at the fabrication plant after I’m done,” he said. He’d learned about those from one of the documents on Shin’s datapad. Apparently, food here could be synthetically produced from scratch, although they were said to taste disgusting. He could deal with that.

“Oh…”

Again, she lapsed into silence. He settled back into reading.

_Interesting._ The Juggernaut could be modified to have high-frequency blades attached as armaments on their limbs, something that Shin apparently exploited in the field with his expert piloting of the craft. Six wondered whether a variant could be devised for him to be used on foot. With how often he clashed against Elites, Six had learned how to efficiently fight in close quarters with the Covenant Energy Sword.

The weight didn’t matter to a Spartan – if something like that could be created for him, he foresaw much use in the field. Hopefully, this ‘Aldrecht’ person that Shin had made mention of could provide him with something like that. Come to think of it, he’d need something compatible with his shotgun, too.

The thought of piloting a Juggernaut the same way the Eighty-Six did had crossed his mind, but he ultimately decided that it wasn’t worth it. His piloting skills were more than up to the task – he had been part of the top-secret SABRE program, after all – but it simply didn’t allow for maximum use of the many capabilities that the MJOLNIR armour provided. He would learn how to pilot it, but he wouldn’t rely exclusively on the vehicle.

The Juggernaut was heavy and large, and would no doubt trip visual or acoustic sensors that the Legion had. It was vulnerable, falling to a single clean shot from a Löwe, or even to the swipe of the spider-like limbs of any of their tanks. It might allow for slightly more firepower, and perhaps an advantage in speed – but at the end of the day, the ability to weave in and out of combat as an armoured soldier was too good to pass up.

He couldn’t wait to test out what weapons this planet had to offer. If the weaponry and ammunition here, which had significantly more advanced ballistics, could be modified to fit his present loadout, it might not be farfetched to say that he could be even _more_ effective here than back in UNSC space… only when talking about him all on his lonesome, of course. Once things like MACs or orbital support were brought into the equation, the UNSC would win out any time.

On that line of thought, Six really needed to think of a solution to battle for air supremacy against the hordes of Eintagsfliege and Stachelschwein. It was hard, though: they populated the skies of almost the entirety of Legion-controlled air, and accompanied all their assault troops. On his own, there was no way he could pull it off, even if he was one of the best pilots among all Spartans with his time in the SABRE program.

It had to be a long-term thing, working in concert with others, rather than something he could accomplish in a single day. There was still something lacking as well – he suspected that there had to be something coordinating and processing the information from that enormous number of miniscule, unmanned aerial drones, but thus far hadn’t found any sight of it.

“Hey, Six?”

He didn’t even glance at her as she interrupted his thoughts, continuing his reading. At least she hadn’t suddenly shocked him into action like before. “Kaie?”

It was strange. He felt an odd camaraderie with these hardened members of Spearhead squadron, who had first joined the front lines form as young as ten years old without any prior training. They were a group that were doomed to die, and yet they fought on anyway. They were _almost_ like how the Spartan-IIIs had been, except that they were so, _so_ different in dozens of different ways.

With that bizarre thought, it completely slipped past his mind that he hadn’t called her as ‘ _soldier_ ’ as he had done earlier in the day. He addressed her the same way he would have any Spartan back in Beta Company, and later with Noble Team. _Tom, Lucy, Adam, Min, Owen, Jonah, Roland, Kat, Carter, Jorge, Jun, Emile…_

She hesitated for a moment, as though unsure of how to word her question. Then, she spoke slowly. “Do you… did you have anyone back where you came from? Do you miss them?”

Did he?

A long time ago, he had Beta Company, but he never got the chance to see any of them again since being selected as one of the cat-2 – except for Kat, of course. But then she had died, too; as had the rest of Noble Team. He didn’t know if Jun survived, but given the glassing that had commenced just before he had been transported here, he doubted that was the case.

In the end… it didn’t matter. They accepted death every day they called themselves _Spartans_ , both their own and those of their comrades, ever since the first days of their training.

“Negative,” he said, finally looking away from the datapad. “I’m all that’s left of my team.”

“How do you do it?” she asked feebly after a second’s pause. “You and Shin… how do you two keep fighting after all that you’ve seen?”

_How?_ What an odd question.

Did that question even need to be asked?

“You just _do_ ,” he grunted. “ _They_ did.”

They had done exactly that for him. Jorge, choosing to stay on the Covenant supercarrier; Carter, piloting the Pelican right into the Scarab to clear a path; Emile putting up a last stand as he manned the MAC turrets. 298 Spartan-IIIs who threw away their lives if it meant destroying the Covenant’s refinery, even though the _Omega three_ order to break and run at any cost had been issued on the field by their commanders.

They had _fought_. And so would he.

…yes, he was no special Spartan.

Her voice softened. “Your friends?”

“Yeah. _Spartans_.” Oddly, her face looked concerned. “They’re never dead, though. They live on in all of us. There’s no way I can face them again in whatever afterlife there is if I don’t _fight_.”

“I see…” She nodded with a complicated emotion on her face, rising to her feet. “There’re spare bunks in the dormitories, you know. You should catch some rest.”

He nodded fractionally. “Once I’m done with this.”

He had no intention of doing that, however. Out here, in the open… that was where he belonged, the same way he went about his missions as a solo operative up until being reassigned to Noble Team. Even then, all that changed was that they had taken up shifts whenever they were outside of UNSC facilities.

Sleeping on a bed… it just felt wrong after all this time. Besides, it probably wouldn’t be able to support the armour, and with the nature of his missions he had taken to removing it only at times of emergencies, such as when projectiles penetrated his shields and armour into his flesh, and emergency removal or cauterisation was required when the biofoam injectors ran out. In the rare downtime outside of missions, he occasionally trained without his armour, just in case there was a situation – however unlikely – whereby it was forcibly removed from him.

He might have to start doing that again more frequently, though. Exiled on his own on this planet as he was, maintenance of the armour would be difficult, and there would be damage aplenty. There may eventually come a time whereby he would have to slowly cast off pieces of his armour, or repurpose and refurnish it in some way.

“Thanks again for saving me, Six,” he faintly heard Kaie’s voice. Already, he was returning to opening another document among dozens still in waiting.

There was the sound of retreating footsteps, and all was quiet around him once more.

_Do you miss them?_

It bothered him that the question still gnawed at him.

Of course he did. They all did. How could they not, after everything they had been through together? After the Covenant had glassed their way through the planets of the Outer Colonies over the span of three years, making incursions into the Inner Colonies and destroying what little Six could remember of his original family at first, the Spartans were all he had left.

Augmentations and training took away many things from them, but they mourned the loss of their friends and second families all the same.

Spartans just never let it get in the way of their missions.

He had lost Beta Company. After operating out as a lone wolf for so long, he had finally once again found his pack, and was torn away from them within a matter of weeks. And now, once more, he was the sole survivor as far as he knew. He would probably never meet another Spartan again.

Distractedly, his thoughts drifted to Jorge’s dog-tags that he had entrusted unto him, ones that he kept safely underneath his armour. He thumbed Emile’s kukri by his thigh, clipped magnetically to prevent him from ever losing it.

They, alongside Jun, Kat, and Carter, had entrusted the future of Noble Team to him. They had passed on the torch of their Spartan spirit.

Spearhead squadron… they weren’t Spartans, but they were as close this planet would get to one. Logically, he _knew_ that a band of twelve teenagers didn’t amount to much. Yet, his instincts told him that they were the key to defeating the Legion, and he trusted his instincts. Numbers lied – a single Spartan could stand against thousands of Covenant troops, as he had proven many times over.

They weren’t Spartans… but he’d forge them into Spartans yet.


End file.
